


The Pieces of Us

by shortstackedcheesecake96



Category: South Park
Genre: Action & Romance, Kyman - Freeform, M/M, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2020-03-08 04:27:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 67,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18887173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortstackedcheesecake96/pseuds/shortstackedcheesecake96
Summary: Eric is an international conman, in love with the thrill of his job. Kyle is a hacker, conflicted with his actions and desperate to get out of the business all together. They thought they had left their old lives behind them, until their paths cross on a job. It's not long before they realise they need each other more than ever. A 'reboot' of my old fic 'Worth the Risk.'





	1. A Small Favour

**Author's Note:**

> Some of you might be thinking, "wait, a fic where Eric is a conman and Kyle is a hacker? Why does that sound familiar? Didn't shorty write something like this before?" And you're right! I did! I wrote 'Worth the Risk' nearly five years ago now, and didn't finish it. Mainly because I had no idea what the hell to do with the story. I'll level with you guys and tell you that writing fics about crime, and action, and heists, is something I'm unfamiliar with and still am unsure whether I can pull off, but something I've always wanted to do before and after 'Worth the Risk,' and want to try out. Now that I'm older, maybe a little wiser, and have actually did a lot more planning and structuring the second time around, I'm rebooting 'Worth the Risk,' and have a lot more faith in myself! For those of you who remember the original story and liked it, there will be a couple of similarities but not a lot. I really wanted to try something new. Nonetheless, I hope you guys stick around and enjoy! I'd love to know your thoughts! Thank you for reading!

**Amsterdam, the Netherlands**

Eric finished his Martini with a demure sip, leaving only the faintest stain of scarlet lipstick on the rim. He had turned a few heads upon his entrance to the hotel bar, ambient shadows concealing lust and envy... to the untrained eye at least. The ability to read people, anticipate their next move in order to influence their next one was an essential part of the con, the grind of the grifter. Eric saw the haze of arousal descend over irises, the jealous, narrowing eyes of others, and offered them an easy, confident smile. Served up with an extra swing in his hips, posture corrected and extenuated by his modest, sparkly kitten heels. He ignored them now, he had his man in his sights and had ensnared him too.

Andrew Mitchell. An English gangster who six nights previously had taken a precious, sovereign ring from Eric's 'boss', Folke. He had called Eric, incensed, already booking his flight to Amsterdam before Eric could tell Folke not to call him at such an ungodly hour. Eric had little time to prep, and even though it was admittedly a personal job, a favour, he didn't like to slack. He knew where his mark was staying, forgoing sightseeing so he could follow his daily movements, feel out his routine - like when he retired to the hotel bar for a drink. Instead of visiting the museums Eric instead toured the hotel, locating every fire escape, service stairwell, restroom, elevator, and of course he  _had_  to stop off for some lunch in the kitchen. A speedy, effective exit was arguably the most crucial aspect of any job. Eric preferred slipping through the mundane, pedestrian cracks in the walls.

Evenings were spent doing more intimate research on his mark. His history, his hobbies, his tastes. Eric learned that Andrew Mitchell had been married three times to tall, curvy blondes, and so he transformed. Tumbling, bleached blond locks hid his chestnut hair, and he wore a mask of winged eyeliner, shimmering blush, and blood red lips. He had attempted contouring too, to achieve a more feminine bone structure. For once in his life, his babyish face with little to no stubble actually felt like a blessing. He only needed to wax his armpits, forearms, and legs, and they were painful enough endeavours. He had fashioned a convincing pair of breasts out of a push-up bra, chicken fillets, and a contoured cleavage spilling out of his almost obscenely tight black leather mini dress. It gleamed alongside his red acrylics, and with its jagged, creased edges it was both an alluring, and formidable garment, daring anyone brave enough to attempt to tame the wearer. And with the help of some suffocating spanx Eric spent an undignified amount of time wriggling into, promised tantalising, voluptuous rewards.

Eric stopped admiring his reflection in the aureate drenched bar when he noticed his mark smiling at him from the other side. Flirty, cocky, lecherous, greedy. Like Eric was another pretty, shiny something he could snatch from someone's else grasp. Of course that's what Eric wanted him to think tonight. But he wasn't for keeps. He returned the smile, lowering his chin and fluttering his false, feathery eyelashes. He plucked the wet, discarded olive from the glass, placing it on his tongue before closing his mouth around the green, gleaming bulb and sucking it from the tiny stick.

Andrew's smile quirked, jolted by Eric's coy yet provocative display as though it were electric. He fidgeted, shifted in his seat, and Eric wanted to snicker, self-satisfied, at what was probably going on south of Andrew's belt. He ushered the bartender over to him, leaning in to murmur his order. The bartender nodded, and soon went about making his drink.

"A Dirty Martini, Miss?" the bartender said, sliding the glass in Eric's direction. "From the gentleman across the bar."

Eric batted his eyes, mimicking surprise. He arched a pencilled eyebrow at Andrew, with a humbler smile.

"Thank you," he replied to the bartender, before lifting the glass to his lips.

He kept his eyes on Andrew, daring him to come over by the time he finished his sip.

_Five, four, three, two-_

"Excuse me, miss?"

_One._

Andrew was approaching him now, shyer in the shrinking distance between them.

Eric placed his drink back on the bar, giving Andrew his full attention.

"I don't normally buy drinks for beautiful strangers but I 'ad to make an exception for you," he continued, gloating at his attempt at smoothness. "You are..." he raked his pale blue gaze over Eric, shyness forgotten. "Absolutely stunning."

Eric snickered, head bowed as he played with a platinum curl.

"Well, it's not often I get blokes buying drinks for me," he replied, slipping into a girlish English accent. "Who said romance is dead, eh?"

Delight lit up Andrew's face, and in the space between his lungs and the waistband of his spanx Eric found a tiny, relieved breath. It seemed like his binge-watching of  _The Only Way is Essex_ in the name of prep had paid off.

"And you're a Brit too!" Andrew grinned, taking a seat beside Eric. "It can't get any better."

"Oh, I don't know," Eric mused. "The night is still young..."

With that he crossed his leg, dress riding further up his smooth, bare thigh. Andrew gulped, fidgety once more and Eric swore he saw sweat glistening on his well-lined forehead.

"So where you from, then?" he asked, perhaps in an effort to cool down.

"Basildon."

Andrew peeled back a grin.

"Shoulda known you'd be an Essex girl."

Eric laughed, the sound tinkling, and rolled his eyes.

"And I suppose you're a..."

"An East End lad."

"Of course you are..." Eric chuckled, lidded eyes roaming over Andrew.

Andrew chewed his lip, hazy and thoughtful, with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He soon remembered himself, back to forced pleasantries when he no doubt had decidedly less pleasant, and more tawdry things in mind.

"I'm sorry, I didn't give you me name," he said, extending his hand to shake. "Andrew Mitchell." he smiled. "Andy."

Eric shook his hand with less pressure than usual.

"Irene Badman."

"Nice to meet you, Irene," Andy said, low, hand still gripping Eric's.

"You too, Andy."

Eric was the one to let go, swishing his hair over his shoulder to reveal brilliant, diamond earrings that cascaded to his shoulders. Andrew...  _Andy_... was a magpie, drawn to jewellery, and so Eric had decked himself out in a few trinkets. A cat collar-like choker with a diamond pendant clutched his neck, and his fingers shone with rings slender and stacked, shimmering and bulbous. He even wore his own sovereign ring, daintier than the one he was sent to retrieve, but just as tacky.

"Those are cracking earrings..." Andy commented.

"Thank you," Eric replied. "I do love my bling!"

"And a sovereign ring? You don't see a lot of birds wearing 'em these days..."

Eric held out his hand, fingers splayed, pretending to admire the gaudy ring on his finger.

"Oh, I love 'em!" he gushed. "Me old man used to wear bloody stacks of 'em on his fingers. He loved his jewellery, fancied himself as a bit of a Pearly King, if I'm honest!"

"I'm partial to a bit of jewellery." Andy nodded. "In fact, I've just got meself a new sovereign ring."

Eric gasped, hand pressed to his chest.

"Really?" he squealed, reaching for Andy's hand. "Let me see!"

Andy chuckled, swiping his hand from Eric's grasp, and pleased with his enthusiasm.

"It's in my room, I'm afraid..."

"Oh, that's a shame..." Eric sighed, reaching for his drink and taking a sip. "I'd 'ave loved to see it..."

He took another long sip of his drink as Andy deliberated an invitation. Desire swallowing his inhibition.

_Let him think he's going to lose you._

"You could always come up and take a look, if you want?" Andy asked, trying to be cool when his rushed question was anything but.

Eric flashed him a pleased, flirtatious smile.

_Got him._

* * *

Despite being located on the fifth-floor, Eric stepped into a larger than average hotel room, all cream and gold, with gauzy curtains shielding the tall windows, and a handsomely decorated living area leading into a just as handsomely decorated bedroom. The door clicked shut behind him, and no doubt Andy was admiring how Eric's hips swayed in his dress while he admired the plump throw cushions, and polished fittings.

"Gorgeous suite..." Eric said, hand running along the top of a plush couch. "I wish my room was as nice as this!"

Not entirely disingenuous. Eric had sprung for a suite in his own hotel, and he couldn't help but feel ripped off.

"Maybe if you asked nicely you could get an upgrade?" Andy asked, voice dripping with innuendo.

"I've done a lot more to get inside a swanky hotel room," Eric replied with a wink.

Andy gulped, smug smirk wavering and he smoothed down his shirt.

Eric sighed, placing a hand on his cocked hip.

"So where's this ring, then?" he asked, with a smidge of impatience.

"Right here..." Andy grinned, gesturing to a cream cabinet.

Eric sauntered over to him, so quiet and delicate that he practically slithered. And like a snake, he wrapped himself around his mark. Head resting on his shoulder, tilted slightly to show affection, over-familiarity, a forwardness that Andy would clearly appreciate. Eric's manicured hand slid up Andy's back to rest on his opposite shoulder, giving it a gentle, coaxing squeeze. He could practically feel Andy relax under his touch, his charms, trusting him already because Eric was only offering him an illusion of what he wanted, a gold dust trail that led to nowhere. And because he believed in Irene, trusted her, wanted to fuck her, he let Eric watch him enter the combination to his safe.

_Right 40. Left 50. Right 30._

The safe opened, revealing stacks of Euro notes - no doubt the payout of illegal or at least morally repressible business dealings - and a sovereign ring. Andy pulled it out of the safe and held it up to the warm, low light of the room at evening. Real, glinting silver.

"Oh my god..." Eric gasped. "It's just like the ones me old man used to 'ave!"

"Yeah, it's quality." Andy replied with a sigh, before placing the ring back in the safe. His gaze trailed over Eric, and his breath was coming terse and heavy in the small space between them. "I seem to be encountering a lot of beautiful things lately..."

Eric pursed his lips, feigning coyness. Blond curls fell in front of his face, concealing a possible blush when a hand roamed from his waist and on to his ass... or that's what he'd at least let Andy think was happening behind his wig.

"Is there anything else you'd like to see?" he asked, voice ragged.

Lifting his head, Eric met Andy's eyes with a wicked smile. He moved his hand to the nape of his neck.

"Hmm... there is one thing..." Eric replied, playing with dark brown curls, greasy with product. "But if I told you, you'd might get the wrong idea..."

Eric glanced at Andy's crotch, his bulge obvious in his jeans. Andy didn't need another hint, he lunged forward and claimed Eric's lips. Hard, wet, and open-mouthed, and suddenly the hand that was at his ass was squeezing him and another arm was wrapping around his waist.

_Fucking chill, dude!_

It wasn't long before Eric felt Andy's burgeoning erection against his thigh, and so he decided to return the kiss, to give as 'good' as he was apparently getting. A pleading whimper escaped his lips, and he tilted his head as he shoved his tongue into Andy's mouth. Thoughts of slobbery kisses and an alcohol soaked tongue were replaced with the exhilaration of walking out of there with the ring in his possession, and the look on Andy's face when he opened his safe to realise it was gone.

Eric felt Andy stiffen when he grabbed him by his belt, leading him to the bed. Andy pawed desperately for control, fingers skidding over the leather of Eric's dress, resistant to traction, and tugging at curls hard enough to make Eric nervous. He diverted any rough tugs and squeezes by pulling Andy's jacket off his shoulders, throwing it to the floor.

That was his cue.

Eric gasped, sharper than glass.

"Oh my god..."

Andy moaned, pleased. His lips had migrated to Eric's neck and were peppering kisses there.

"No, no, wait!" Eric pleaded, wrestling out of Andy's grip. "My jacket!"

Andy lifted his head, face pinked and pupils dilated. He was collecting his breaths, trying to follow this new, unwelcome trajectory of conversation.

"Eh?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"My jacket!" Eric fretted. "I left it downstairs! Oh, I only got it the other day!"

He pouted, lower lip wobbling as he forced petulant tears into his eyes. He tucked some hair behind his ear before Andy stepped in to do it for him, fingers brushing against his cheek.

"It's alright, love, I'll go get it..." he said, smiling.

Eric batted wet, doe eyes at him.

"Would you, really?"

Andy didn't seem so sure. He sighed to himself, smile fading into an impatient frown.

"If it's that important-"

"It is!" Eric nodded frantically. "Oh, what if someone's pinched it?!"

Andy sighed once more, as if he were dealing with a child.

"No one's pinched it," he assured. "I'll run down and get it for you right now."

Eric smiled, hands clasped at his chest as he watched Andy leave.

"Aww, you're such a gentleman!" he gushed.

"Am I gonna get something in return for my chivalry?" Andy asked over his shoulder, stood by the open doorway. His eyebrow was arched and he was practically drooling.

Eric snickered, and lowered his chin. He fiddled with the zipper at the front of his dress.

"Maybe..." he smiled, biting his now smudged lip. "How 'bout I make myself comfortable while you fetch my jacket?"

Eric gave the zipper a tug, exposing more of his fake cleavage. Andy swallowed thickly, eyes following Eric's fingers as if they could finish what Eric had started. He shook his head before he rushed out of the room, door slamming shut behind him.

Now alone, Eric fixed his zipper and grimaced.

He returned to the cabinet, grabbing the clutch he had dropped on the coffee table and tucking it under his arm. He opened the safe, grinning triumphantly at the ring just waiting for him. He tried to slip it on his index finger, but it was tighter than the fucking spandex. Getting all dressed up and part-way seducing a man to get to this damn ring was one thing, having it surgically removed from his finger was another. Instead, he tucked the ring inside his purse and was out the door.

Leaving the room, he checked the coast was clear of any horny Englishmen and made his way to the service stairwell situated at the far end of the corridor. He eyed the elevators as he slipped off his kitten heels. Modest they may have been, but it would be a much simpler jog down the stairs if he was barefoot.

Lacking in central heating, it was a cold descent to the ground floor, and even the pattering of his feet seemed to echo in the hollow stairwell. Flushed with sweat and panting by the time he reached the bottom, he was delighted to see that his white faux-fur jacket was still waiting for him next to a florescent yellow bucket, and not snatched by some maid or waitress who liked expensive clothes and stealing just as much as he did.

He shouldered open the heavy door, and was greeted by a welcoming breeze and a not so welcoming smell of garbage as he stepped out into the alley. He slipped his jacket on his shoulders and his shoes on his feet. Emerging from the alley he then hailed a cab, and breathed a content sigh when one soon pulled up beside him.

"Hallo," he said, as he slid into the back seat.

At least he could brush up on his Dutch whilst in Amsterdam.

"Hallo," the cab driver replied. "Waarheen?"

"Hyacinth Club, alsjeblieft."

"Zeker."

"Dank je," Eric replied, sinking into the seat.

The cab pulled away, and out the window the Amstel was illuminated by the city lights. Eric reached into his clutch, pulling out lipstick and a compact, wiping away the stain of Andy's eager kisses.

* * *

The Hyacinth Club was a members only establishment that any decent person wouldn't want to be a part of. Despite the elegant piano tinkling in the distance, the waiters' chins and trays held high in the air, and the crushed velvet and gleaming satin in blacks and dark purples, it catered to a delinquent underbelly, a criminal elite. Escorts sat on the laps of sleazeballs like the guy Eric just conned, and men and women dressed in dark colours leaned in close to have murmured, clandestine conversations. They often turned their heads to guard their chatter, paused when their waiters who had taken an oath of discretion approached their tables, and eyed each other warily when they were sure they weren't looking. In this world, trust was earned through dangerous, sacrificial initiation, and suspicion was never truly discarded. If you had lived in it long enough, you simply forgot how to trust.

"Good evening, Miss," the Maitre d' greeted him as he approached his desk.

"Good evening," Eric replied. "I'm here to meet Mr Nilsson."

The Maitre d' smiled and nodded.

"Follow me."

Folke was taking a long sip of wine when Eric reached his table, narrowed eyes trying to peer through the opaque drapes.

"Your guest has arrived, sir."

"How it's going, Folke?" Eric asked, dropping his feminine, English accent.

Folke's green-grey eyes followed the sound, and twitched only slightly in surprise.

"Mitch?"

"Thank you," Eric said to the maitre d', flashing a grin.

He left, and Eric pulled up a chair. Folke watched him with a crease in his brow, and lips quirked in what looked like amusement. When Eric was first approached by Folke in college it seemed like his face was set in concrete, or perhaps alabaster. Emotions buried and bubbled beneath the surface, barely stirring his hardened features. Perhaps his stony expression was due to his accident, but Eric could never imagine his features ever stretching in laughter.

"Well?" Eric asked, still grinning. He flicked his long, blond hair dramatically over his shoulder. "What do you think?"

Folke eyed Eric up and down.

"Excessive."

Eric fought the urge to roll his eyes. Didn't anyone appreciate showmanship anymore?

"Wow, I thought your English was better than that. Don't you mean 'impressive?'"

"No, I mean it is too much," Folke replied, humourless. "This was only supposed to be a small job, Mitch."

"Come on, we all want to play the chick once in a while, right?"

Folke blinked, perplexed and unamused.

Eric sighed, figuring he should move on and get down to business.

"Besides..." he reached into his clutch and pulled the ring out. "The mark totally fell for it."

Folke smiled then, actually showing his teeth.

"Excellent," he replied, plucking the ring from Eric's gasp.

He inspected it, before tucking it in the inside pocket of his jacket.

"So what's the deal with the ring?" Eric asked, arms folded and elbows resting on the table. "I didn't even know you liked jewellery."

"It's not about fashion, Mitch."

"Clearly..." Eric murmured.

"I may not wear the ring, but I carry it with me every day," Folke continued. "It has been in my family for generations. My grandfather gave it to my father, and my father gave it to me. It is a symbol to remind me how important family is." He tilted his head downwards and glared at Eric across the table. "You would do well to remember that too..."

Eric shrugged, unperturbed. What was the point in remembering when 'family' was a notion he had deserted long ago? When he had so little of it? His mom had been a hindrance for most of his life, and he had no idea what the hell the friends he had spent most of his childhood with were doing now. It was ridiculous to even ponder it, but that still didn't stop him from doing so when he found himself bored and alone.

"I don't have a family to remember..."

"You have us," Folke pointed out.

It was harder to resist rolling his eyes then. For as long as Eric had been working with Folke and his crew, the idea that they were all a 'family' had been drummed into him. Folke had tried to bind them all together with a sense of duty, unite them with a feeling of belonging. Maybe Folke thought it would dissuade them from turning against him? It was an admirable attempt at manipulation, but Eric knew it was futile when the nature of the business they're in forced them to have a dagger up their sleeves, ready to stab each other in the back for a bigger payout, or a head-start if they had to flee. They were colleagues, nothing more. But perhaps even that was pushing it. Accomplices, at the least.

"Yeah, well, I don't think-"

"Would you like to order a drink, Miss?" a waiter cut in.

"Yes, I'll have a Dirty Martini," Eric said with a smile.

"Certainly." The waiter nodded.

"Anyway, back to the ring," Eric said when they were alone. Anything to divert them from the topic of family. "If it's so precious to you how did Andrew Mitchell get it in the first place?"

Folke sighed, staring into his glass and watching the wine swirl.

"I lost it. In a poker game."

Eric blinked, brow furrowed.

"Wait, you actually fucking bet it?"

"I had no choice," Folke snapped. "Putting everything out on the line is a sign of confidence. I thought I could win."

"You told me he stole it." Eric frowned.

"He did."

Eric's frown melted into a smirk. He arched an eyebrow at him.

"Sounds to me like you're a sore loser..."

"You're mistaken," Folke replied, serious as ever.

"Your Martini..." the waiter announced, approaching their table.

"Thank you..." Eric replied, as his drink was placed in front of him.

"I have a job lined up in two weeks in St Tropez," Folke said when they were alone once more. "Would you be interested?"

"Depends. What is it?"

"Sophia and Pierre Bisset, wealthy French socialites, are holding an auction at their family's St Tropez property."

"Auctioning what?"

"Jewellery, mainly," Folke replied. "Their family is infamous for owning some of the finest jewels in France. But Sophia and Pierre are very self-conscious of their privilege and their family's past, their ties to colonialism. Their ancestors acquired a lot of the jewels in Africa. They want to, uh... 'wipe the slate clean.' Start over. Have you ever heard of Le Grand Arc-on-ciel?"

Eric shook his head, taking another sip of his drink.

"It's one of the pieces that will be auctioned. The most valuable piece, and on the black market I believe it would sell for more than it's estimated value. I'll split the profits between all of you."

"All of us?" Eric asked. "You mean..." he groaned, his enthusiasm plummeting. "Ugh, those dipshits are coming too?"

Whenever Eric could run a job without Folke's troll-like lackeys he was glad. They may have had the muscles, and intimidating scowls perfect for a job that required some brawn, but Eric had little patience for their idiocy.

"It's a big operation," Folke replied, growing snippy. "I need all the help I can get."

Eric huffed, slouching in his seat a little.

"Fine..."

"So you're coming, then?"

"Yeah, of course," Eric replied. "It's fucking St Tropez! And if this rainbow diamond goes for as much as you're saying it will - and if we actually pull it off - then it's a payout I can't refuse."

"I'm glad..." Folke murmured to the rim of his glass.

"You'll need one well of a hacker though," Eric pointed out. "I imagine the mainframe is gonna be a tough one to crack... and I know I'm good, but that techy stuff isn't my thing. I could try, but-"

"I've got it, uh, 'covered,' as you say," Folke cut in, almost excitably. Almost  _grinning_.

"What's with the smirk?" Eric asked, chuckling a little nervously. Before it dawned on him. "Oh, shit..." he said, all humour fading. "Have you found them?"

Folke simply nodded.

Eric had taken a sip of his drink while he waited for Folke's reply. Unwise. He choked on surprise, forced to spit out the drink before it came out of his nose. He coughed uncontrollably, eyes watering.

"You're... y-you're seriously?" Eric asked, rasping. "You've got Glitch?"

"Yes, I am..." Folke paused, grimacing. "Seriously..."

"H-h-how?"

"You know I've been trying to track them down for years, to recruit them," Folke replied, tone cool and smug. "They're very in demand. It was only a matter of time before I found them though. It's a freelance job but still..." he flashed his teeth again. "I've finally got them."

Eric nodded, his coughing fit subsiding. Folke had been talking about Glitch for as long as they'd worked together, had tried to draft them into every con where they needed somebody with tech know-how. But Glitch had always evaded him, whether because of lack of contact, lack of availability, or their retainer was too high and Folke was too proud to pay it. They had become legendary now, almost mythic within their crew, and Eric was often in awe and in doubt of their supposedly brilliant abilities. How much better could Glitch be than the other hackers Eric had worked with, after all? He often found himself simmering in jealousy when Folke's attention was so consumed by them (Eric's need for validation and praise did not discriminate, much to his occasional annoyance); growing cynical when Folke had failed to recruit them yet again; and lost in silent reverence when he considered just how skilled and formidable Glitch could be.

"Shit, well... they better be as good as you've always said they are," he replied with a wry smile. "I wouldn't want you to get your hopes up."

Eric took another sip, and wondered how he would react upon meeting Glitch. If they showed up at all. What was to stop them from bailing at the last minute? Would he be starstruck? Irritated? Would they clash, or would they gel? Eric couldn't contemplate it further. Sitting in a seedy club in Amsterdam, it just seemed too surreal and faraway.


	2. Of All The Cons In All The World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter update this time around, but hopefully an enjoyable one. Plus, it's on Kyle's birthday! I hope you guys enjoy, and I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thank you for reading!

**St Tropez, French Riviera**

A warm breeze blew off the gentle azure sea and floated all the way to the open sliding doors of Kyle's hotel room. The biscuit coloured curtains fluttered, and it was as if the cool air was pleading with Kyle to head to the beach. Empty sun loungers and sugary white sand was beckoning, but Kyle had no time. He was here on business. Criminal, morally bankrupt business, but business nonetheless. It stole the sparkle from the rolling waves, made the distant laughter from tourists and locals alike sound as hollow as a seagull's caw. But this would be the last time such a beautiful location left him with a bittersweet taste in his mouth. No, Kyle was determined this was his last job. He'd transfer some of his payout to Ike, head home, destroy any digital speck he left behind (if he could say so himself, 'Glitch' was too meticulous and good at what he did to leave fingerprints of any variety), and move his accounts around. Maybe he would move out of his Manhattan loft, find somewhere smaller, suburban, find work that was fulfilling and legal. Perhaps he would return to St Tropez one day? With a loving wife or husband on his arm, and adorable kids in tow?

Kyle could actually feel himself enjoying the sea breeze and the crash of waves again, before his phone started to buzz in his shorts' pocket. His personal phone, not his burner one. It could only be one person. He pulled the phone from his pocket and smiled despite the impending possibility of an emotionally fraught conversation. They had been occurring more frequently as of late. He tried to swallow the dread that had welled up in his throat, and answered the phone.

"Hey, Ike."

"Hey, man," Ike replied. Kyle wondered if he was just as anxious. "How it's going?"

"Good, good. You know, busy as usual..."

"Yeah, sure."

"How are you?" Kyle asked, feet digging into the terrain of light conversation. "Are you having a good semester?"

"Yeah, it's been fine, I guess. I've been kind of tired lately though, and sluggish, and-"

"Hungover?" Kyle teased. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Maybe," Ike replied, grin evident in his voice. "I'm still crushing my classes though so it's cool."

Kyle chuckled, fond.

"So, hey, uh, I was just calling to say thank you for the cash you sent me..."

"No problem. And you're saving it, right?" Kyle asked. It was so easy to slip into big brother mode, even after all this time. "I want you to be able to pay off your loans, not use it as a party fund."

"Kyle, I promise I'm not touching it until I graduate."

"Well... good. I don't wanna lecture you, but-"

"You love lecturing me," Ike cut in, full of mirth.

He supposed Ike wasn't wrong. It's not that he loved lecturing him, but he just couldn't help it.

"Yeah, I guess that's kinda true... " he conceded a little sheepishly.

The dread in Kyle's chest actually started to thin and wane, floating out onto the horizon like a paper boat until it shrank to an insignificant nothing. Never could he imagine a conversation with his brother going quite so well.

"Listen, I know you're always crazy busy and you practically live in work but... I was wondering if you were free and in the area then maybe you could come visit?" Ike asked, the hope in his voice was piercing. "I could show you around campus, and I could introduce you to my friends?"

Kyle's shoulders fell. He spoke too soon. The dread was slowly rising up inside and threatening to drown him.

"Oh, Ike, I don't know, man," he replied, hating every word. "Now's not really a good time..."

"Or I could come to you?" Ike continued, undeterred. "It's only a couple of hours from Ithaca to Manhattan?"

"Well... I-I-I'm actually not home right now."

Kyle winced, finger tracing the polished wood of his dresser.

"Where are you?"

Kyle sighed, frowning.

"St Tropez..."

"Seriously? You're in fucking France now? Shit, I had no idea IT involved this much travelling..."

"Well, the company operates all over the world, Ike." Kyle was unable to stop the testy reply.

"Okay, then... when are you home?"

Kyle smothered a desperate huff, eyes rolling to the heavens for some guidance.

"I don't know, in a week or so?" He replied. He could feel his sweaty palm stick to the phone. "B-b-but still, I don't know if it'd be a good idea then either, I'm swamped and-"

"Forget about it, Kyle," Ike cut in, no mirth and no patience.

Kyle couldn't blame him. He sighed, hanging his head.

"Ike, I'm really sorry..." he mumbled.

Ike scoffed.

"Yeah, you've said that the last fifty times I've tried to meet up with you..."

Something stirred in Kyle then. Anger, fuelled by exhaustion. He was tired of letting his brother down, tired of lying to him, and tired of feeling so fucking guilty and awful every time they talked. He gritted his teeth, lips pulling taut.

"Hey, Ike, I can't help having a busy schedule, okay? I need to have a job-"

"Yeah, Kyle, I get it but you also have a fucking family!"

"Quit being so self-righteous, you asshole! I care about our family! I'm looking out for you-"

"Don't hold that over my head, man! I appreciate everything but that doesn't make up for the fact that I haven't had a conversation with you, face-to-face in what? Four years? I don't even know your fucking address! And how long has it been since you've had the fucking courtesy to even call mom and dad?"

That indignant spark petered out, plunging Kyle into darkness and guilt. He may have been doing his best, but it wasn't good enough. In fact, he wasn't doing any good at all.

"You... you haven't told them about all the money, have you?"

Kyle hadn't talked to his parents in four years, and hadn't seen them since his graduation ceremony. In his line of work, he told himself it was for the best when really he couldn't bear the disappointment and sense of betrayal he would have to deal them. He had tried to stay away, but after unceremoniously moving to New York after a couple of successful jobs, he decided to get in contact with Ike. Their conversations were rare, but Kyle always gave Ike a chunk of his payouts under the condition they were to go towards his future after college... and that the money and Kyle's whereabouts were kept secret from their parents.

"Ike?" Kyle pressed, when the silence grew unnerving.

"No..." Ike sighed. "No, but only because I promised I wouldn't."

Kyle exhaled shakily too, rubbed his tired face and ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry, Ike. Really. I'll... I-I-I'll try to be better, I promise." He frowned. "I'll call you when I get home, okay?"

"Okay..."

Kyle looked at his watch. He had to leave soon.

"I have to go," he said apologetically.

"Alright."

"Ike, I... I love you."

He waited for Ike's reply, not caring if it made him late.

"Bye, Kyle."

Ike hung up without another word. Kyle threw his head back, eyes closed as he rode out the nauseating wave of guilt, and tried to figure out what to do now. Go to his meeting. Get through the next forty eight hours. Finish the job. Go home, and start over.

He hauled himself off his bed, and headed out the door.

* * *

Sunbathing on his hotel's private beach, Eric wondered how many people his age could afford to do this? Had a job that granted them this sort of luxury? Sure, it was a scary profession sometimes when the con was fraying at the edges, or the people you were working with wouldn't hesitate to put a metaphorical or literal knife in your back; and lonely when relationships of any sort were a liability, a dead skin you had to slither out of in order to let your new, toughened skin show. At least it was never boring. Sure, Eric could skydive, or bungee jump, or stand idle in a cage while sharks circled him but what was the point? This was a rush of adrenaline, flooding his veins, and he got paid for the privilege. Besides, it was way more glamorous than any of that harness and oxygen tank stuff. The sun warming his skin, and the smell of champagne and sun lotion in the air brightened the scary, seedy, and depressing memories where Eric feared he would lose the mark, the job, his life, and whatever fucking dignity or humanity he had left.

Eric peered over his sunglasses, trying to spot his waiter so he could order another cocktail. He saw bronzed women wearing huge sunglasses - and even bigger hats - stroll down the beach with sarongs swept up in the breeze; and busy, metropolitan parents watching their children play with their nannies in the surf while they tried to get some work done on their Riviera getaway. He wondered if they noticed him at all? This lone guy lounging on the beach, hands tucked behind his head as he smiled up at the sky, at no one. If they suspected at all the things he had done, and if they would be interested, or indeed impressed by his escapades. If Eric - by some strange turn of events - ever wanted a boyfriend, wanted to give domesticity a try, he would have the best end-of-the-day work stories ever. Because even if he did find someone he wanted to hold on to, no way would he give this job up. He was too good at it, and he didn't even have to try.

He almost gave up searching for his waiter, until red curls caught his eye. A guy, just like him, sitting alone and sipping at a bottle of water whilst reading a book. Even when he knew it couldn't possibly be Kyle, even when the shade of his hair was just a tad off, and this guy was just an attractive mirage, Eric still brimmed with a hope and eagerness that was frightening in its ferocity. He may have thought it pointless to dwell on thoughts of his childhood best friends, but Kyle, as always, was the exception. Not even his new bruised, hardened skin was impenetrable to innocent late night imaginings of Kyle's life, fleeting reminders of him, and fantasies of meeting each other again. He bled and ached, little by little, but those scars were easy to conceal, those aches easy to numb with a new job to complete, a new place to go, and occasionally a decoy redhead to flirt with. It was a pattern he had been familiar with for as long as he could remember. Burying his feelings in a shallow grave, suffocating and stamping them out like a habit he wished he could kick.

Before he could approach the gentleman sat alone, his phone buzzed on the small table beside him. A reminder that his meeting with Folke, the gang,  _and fucking_   _Glitch_  was in half an hour and that he wasn't even ready for.

"Shit!" he muttered to himself, finding his shirt and slipping it on.

He gathered his belongings, and rushed to his hotel room to get changed.

* * *

Sat in an abandoned warehouse in one of the coastal town's backstreets Kyle felt further from the seaside idyll of St Tropez than ever. Kyle sat with his shoulders hunched as the hulking criminals he was introduced to sniggered behind him and engaged in deep, throaty conversation in a language he couldn't understand. Kyle hadn't done enough jobs in Europe to pick up phrases in any language. If it wasn't the company making him uncomfortable, then it was the lack of air conditioning. His skin prickled with sweat, and his throat felt coarse with growing dehydration.

"Where the hell is Mitch?" One of the tall, brutish guys asked.

Kyle jolted at the question being asked in English, albeit in some sort of thick Scandinavian accent.

"I'm sure he's on his way," Folke replied, poised in front of a projector like some fishy sales representative about to con them into a time-share... but ten times more menacing. "He knows better than to upset me."

A guy Kyle remembered was called Klaus shook his head, and spat on the grubby floor.

"Typical arrogant American..." he grumbled. "Thinks he can show up whenever he wants..."

"Yeah, it's bad enough we have to work with one, and now you're making us work with two?" Another guy replied, gesturing to Kyle dismissively, like he had already made his mind up that he was no use to them.

Kyle gritted his teeth. It was bad enough to be in a situation he didn't want to be in, but even worse when nobody was showing him any fucking gratitude. He didn't care that this guy towered over him and probably had a fist the size of his head, he wasn't going to be talked about like he was a piece of trash.

But before Kyle could open his mouth to say anything, Folke scowled and hobbled over to the guy so irritated by Kyle's presence. His gleaming black cane made Kyle wince as it clacked on the faded tiles and echoed in the large, hollow space. And even though Folke was so much shorter than him, and older than him with his silvery five o'clock shadow and limping gait, the formidable gangster shrank in his seat, eyes blown wide with fear. Folke leaned in close, unperturbed.

"Can your pea-sized brain hack into a security mainframe and disable a laser system?" he asked.

No answer, even his voice had shrank. He shook his head.

"No!" Folke barked. "So keep your mouth shut!"

Kyle pursed his lips, suffocating the smug smile threatening to stretch across his face. Folke growled, making his way over to the projector once again, hurried and impatient.

"If Mitch isn't here in five seconds I'm going to go to his hotel room and drag him here by his-"

Folke was interrupted by the sound of the door being flung open, the startling sunlight pouring in.

"It's okay!" An all too familiar voice called out. "I'm here! We can start now!"

In the oppressive heat, Kyle suddenly froze. His mind willed him, screamed at him to run away, scream, hell, even fucking throw up but he couldn't, paralysed by a panic attack. All he could do was turn his head, to confirm that this horrifying, impossible encounter was actually true. He hated with every inch of his being that Eric fucking Cartman, the boy he thought he had escaped from a life left behind was now striding towards him. As if he couldn't feel like he had sunk any lower. He turned back around, head bowed to disguise his racing breaths. If only he could disguise himself, disappear, so Cartman wouldn't notice him and acknowledge that this was actually happening.

"It's about fucking time..." one of Cartman's comrades snapped.

"Nice to see you too, Anders."

"Mitch, where have you been?" Folke asked, already displeased with whatever answer Cartman had to give.

His footsteps were drawing closer. Kyle daren't look up from his lap.

"Sorry, man, I got held up at the beach and..."

Silence.

As if Cartman wasn't going to notice him after all this time, all they had been through, all that was missing that had led them to this most extraordinary point... committing a crime together in a foreign country. Kyle winced, squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to alleviate the agonising silence, to prepare himself.

He looked up, and saw Cartman stood in front of him. Slack-jawed, and his stare was as calculating and intense as ever. Kyle couldn't believe that he never thought he'd see it again. A loathsome grin spread slowly across Cartman's face.

"Holy fucking shit..." he murmured.

Kyle didn't reply, unsure if he could.

He noticed Folke glancing between the two of them. There was a small dent in his brow that cast a hard shadow over his eyes.

"Something wrong, Mitch?" he asked.

Cartman shook his head, grin wavering but eyes never leaving Kyle. He soon blinked, the haze dispersing, and he turned to Folke.

"Huh?" he asked, before clearing his throat. "No, no, I'm just, uh, excited to meet the infamous 'Glitch'..." he smiled again. "After all this time..."

Cartman extended his hand for Kyle to shake.

"Mitch Conner," he said, goading beneath the charm.

Kyle scowled, and stood up. His hand was still shaking as he returned the handshake.

"Nice to meet you..." Kyle replied, trying hard not to grit his teeth again. "Mitch..."

"Likewise..." Cartman grinned, not letting go.


	3. Catching Up

Eric tried to concentrate on the meeting, on the bare-bones profile of the Bisset siblings, the blueprint of their seaside mansion, on the twinkling photo of the multi-faceted, multi-coloured, multi-jewelled Grand-Arc-en-Ciel. The Grand Rainbow; the necklace set with stunning examples of inky blue and sumptuous violet onyx, striking verdant emerald, regal blue sapphire, honeyed yellow topaz, and blood red ruby; earned each one of its eye-watering ninety carats. Its dazzling extravagance, and the hefty price tag it promised, was only slightly more alluring than Kyle, a phantom from his past life, materialising in a fucking decrepit warehouse in the middle of St Tropez.

"... so we'll meet at the Bisset mansion at eight pm tomorrow. You're all adults so I'll let you run point on this. As you know I expect a high level of professionalism..."

Ever the theif, Eric attempted to steal quick glances of Kyle. Curious, 'pinch-me' glances to convince himself this was actually real (brimming with giddy shock when he told himself it was), and longer, greedier stares when he considered that Kyle was in front of him now, actual flesh, and warmth, and presence. They could talk to each other, and stand next to each other, and breathe each other in, and Eric could admire his green-blue eyes, and his lean biceps peaking out of his shirt, and what was that smell when they shook hands? Coconut. Definitely coconut shampoo. God, Eric was jealous of whatever lucky bastard got to bury their nose in those curls-

"Mitch?" Folke's sharp voice forced him out of his daydream. "Are you listening to me?"

Eric's gaze collided with Kyle's, and Eric ripped it away. His mouth felt heavier all of a sudden.

"Huh- what?"

Folke's eyes narrowed, stony and displeased.

"I said I expect professionalism," he replied, calm but not comforting. "No more tardiness."

Eric chuckled, shaking his head. Once Folke knew you were scared of him, you were practically placing your balls under his polished black shoes.

"Come on, you know I'm never late for a job..."

"No, I don't know that. You still have plenty of opportunity to disappoint me." He tilted his chin slightly, a menacing eclipse over his moon-white face. "And you know what happens to people who disappoint me..."

Eric held his darkened stare and nodded, confident and matter-of-fact. Folke tilted his chin upwards again, breaking them out of their stalemate.

"Alright," Folke addressed the group. "We're done here."

Eric tried to keep his attention on Kyle. Not just for the sole purpose of drooling over him, but because he knew Kyle would fucking bolt as soon as he had the chance and he couldn't let that happen. He had to talk to him.  _He_  did, Eric not Mitch (although it was often hard to distinguish between the two), and get answers somehow.

As expected, Kyle leapt out of his seat and marched to the door. Among the lumbering stroll of Anders, Bode, Klaus and Gunner filing out, Kyle flew out of the warehouse like a rocket. Eric's chair screeched in displeasure as he rose from his seat, the legs dragging along the grimy floor. He almost tripped over it as he tried to catch up to Kyle. Eric had just pushed past Gunner and Klaus as Kyle was slipping out of the door and into the sun-drenched street.

The degenerate group parted ways, with Kyle marching up one end of the street with hunched shoulders and a hurried stride, and Folke's Neanderthals dragging their feet towards a bar further down the road. Eric jogged to catch up with Kyle, eager for a private conversation.

"Hey!" he called out, panting. "Hey, wait!"

Kyle spun around, scowling.

"What?" he hissed, wide eyes restless as they tried to spot any eavesdroppers.

After all that, Eric had no idea what to say. What the hell could he say? So he laughed, breathless and laboured. He threw his hands up in the air.

"What the fuck are you doing here, man?" he asked, still chuckling in disbelief.

Kyle folded his arms, and Eric watched his jaw tighten. His eyes roamed the old pavement for answers, but there appeared to be none.

"I have to go, Cartman..." he murmured, before rolling his eyes. "I mean,  _Mitch_..."

Before Eric could protest, Kyle had turned back around.

"Wait!" Eric panicked, grabbing Kyle's arm.

No way could this be it. No way could Eric go a whole two days before seeing Kyle again on the job, especially when they may not get a chance to talk about what had happened in these mysterious years of absence from each other's lives.

Kyle's eyes widened once more, alight with anger and horror at the fingers gripping his arm.

_You're fucking scaring him, creep!_

Eric's grip grew lax, not letting him go because honestly he didn't trust him not to run away. Kyle grimaced, wriggling his arm out of Eric's hold and scowling at him while he waited for an explanation.

"Sorry, wait, I just... I just wanted to ask, uh..." Eric couldn't bear to look at Kyle as he stumbled over his words like a moron.

_God, you've lied to mafia bosses, and corrupt politicians, and gang leaders_ right to their faces  _but you can't ask a guy you like out for lunch?_

Eric swallowed resolutely, vowing to prove the voice in his head wrong.

"Do you wanna grab some lunch with me?"

He asked the question so quickly that when Kyle didn't respond right away he wondered if he had understood.

"Lunch?" Kyle asked, arching an eyebrow like he couldn't quite believe that's all Eric wanted from him.

"Yeah?" Eric replied, grinning now, emboldened. "You know, the type of meal you'd have with a friend you haven't seen in a while and want to catch up with?"

Kyle rolled his eyes, a smile flickering in the corner of his mouth like it was muscle memory. He corrected himself, scratching the nape of his neck and sighing.

"Cartman, I don't know. I really should be-"

"Please, Kyle." Eric cut in, stepping forward, enveloping Kyle in an earnest shadow. "I need to know how the hell this has happened..."

Kyle searched his face for reassurance, or a hidden motive. Eric could tell he had cracked Kyle's hard, cynical shell, peeling to reveal a trusting, deliberating centre, one that Eric remembered from childhood. He supposed it was his actions, his violations of Kyle's trust from those many childhood escapades that had contributed to Kyle's weary scepticism. Kyle took a quiet breath, reluctant once more.

"Will it get you to stop staring at me?" he asked.

Eric flushed, stifling in the heat. He supposed he hadn't exactly being subtle in there...

"I... I-I wasn't  _staring_  at you-"

Kyle arched an eyebrow, and Eric could forgive him for making him all flustered when he  _fucking smirked._

Eric rolled his eyes, a helpless smile spreading across his face.

"Yes, if you have lunch with me and tell me how the fuck you wound up here then I'll stop staring at you."

Kyle fidgeted as he deliberated further.

"Fine..." he replied, checking his surroundings once again. "Let's find somewhere quick before I change my mind."

* * *

Of course they couldn't find a humble, little cafe, or a quiet coffee shop for their dreaded 'catch-up'. Of course Cartman had to drag them to a stylish, modern restaurant with tiny portions of over-priced food, just because he could. They sat in the restaurant's al fresco area, with dainty crisp parasols shielding them from the relentless heat of the Riviera sun but still filtered its rays. The sound of the waves rolling onto the shore was not too far away.

Kyle studied the menu, glad that Cartman hadn't pressed for anything too personal or revealing just yet. Although, he couldn't kid himself that he would make it out of this meal without divulging something. Kyle remembered that whatever Cartman wanted, he would do just about anything to get, and he now appeared to be making a living out of it. Whatever, Kyle would suffer through one lunch with him if it got Cartman to stop staring at him like he was a diamond to snatch, a painting to carve right out of its frame, a mark he could rob of anything he was worth. He would rather disclose some details about his life to Cartman himself and be stingy with the morsels he offered, rather than have Cartman's eyes boring into him like he was trying to fucking root the truth out of him.

"Bonjour, messieurs." A smartly-dressed waiter smiled as he approached their table.

"Bonjour," Cartman replied.

"Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Nous aurons une bouteille de votre maison blanche, s'il vous plaît?"

"Fantastique!" The waiter replied, most likely delighted to encounter a tourist speaking the native language.

Kyle's surprise, however was a little less pleasant. He looked over his menu, eyes widened and startled at Cartman's effortless French... and how it stirred something curious in him when accompanied by Cartman's bright, smug grin.

"Wait, what?" Kyle asked, tripping over his words as he tried to keep up with the conversation.

"The house white, sir?"

"Oh no, not for me, thank you. I'll, uh, have a... lemonade," Kyle replied, flushing. He gripped his menu like a security blanket. "Please?"

The waiter nodded and smiled, tapping their orders on a small tablet before walking away. Cartman was still smirking, eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Since when do you speak French?" Kyle asked, still simmering in embarrassment and the question was testier than he intended.

Cartman shrugged, unaffected. He glanced at the other glamorous patrons enjoying their meals.

"It was my major, remember? But I guess I wasn't totally fluent until I moved to Paris..."

"You've lived in Paris?"

Kyle's brow creased at the thought of Eric Cartman living in a place surrounded by so much culture, and art, and  _sophistication_. Although from the moment he strolled into the warehouse with his hair neatly styled, and a chunky, silver timepiece hanging off his wrist, Kyle could tell he had moved on from his immature, teenage wardrobe. In fact, when the blinding panic began to ebb, Kyle considered that Cartman actually looked fucking  _good._  God, Kyle could feel himself plummeting to newer depths when he thought he couldn't sink any lower.

" _Live_ ," he corrected. "I have an apartment there. See? This is why we needed to catch up!"

"Why would I ever need to know where you live?" Kyle asked, unconvinced.

"You may come to town and want to visit someday?"

"Unlikely..."

Before Cartman could nag him into a trip to Paris, the waiter approached once more with their beverages in icy glasses.

"The lemonade for you, sir..."

"Thank you," Kyle replied as his drink was placed in front of him.

"Et la maison blanche?" The waiter turned to Cartman with a grin.

"Merci..."

"Voulez-vous un échantillon d'abord?"

"Oui, s'il vous plait."

The waiter poured a couple of glugs of wine into Cartman's glass. He took a sip, before nodding decisively at the waiter.

"Merci," he said, as he watched the waiter fill his glass almost to the top.

The waiter nodded too, beaming before leaving the bottle in a small, silver bucket.

"This wine is really fucking great," Cartman said after he took a longer sip. "Sure you don't want any?"

"I'm good, thanks," Kyle murmured, reaching for his lemonade.

"We're not working right now, Kyle..."

Kyle rolled his eyes, irritated by Cartman's ceaseless smirking.

"I know. We're 'catching up' or whatever, so catch me up and we can get this over with."

Cartman's eyebrow arched, genuine surprise flickering across his face.

"You're really interested?"

Kyle flushed again, like he had given something away he was supposed to hold close to his chest.

"No..." he sighed, figuring he should just admit that his curiosity was growing with every moment he was spending with this flashy, French-speaking, criminal Cartman. "Yes? I guess I'm kinda intrigued how majoring in French lands you a gig as professional theif."

Cartman grinned, pleased and victorious, but Kyle couldn't be too pissed off when he was gaining something too.

"Oh, it started way before college, Kyle..." he teased.

"Huh?" Kyle asked, lost and disorientated in a timeline that was becoming murkier. "You're... you're kidding, right?"

No way could this have started while they were both still in high school.

"Nope," Cartman replied with a shake of his head. "Let's go back, Kyle..." he looked wistfully into nowhere and waved his fingers in the air like he could conjure up his story. "To before the beginning..."

Kyle groaned, burying his head in his hands. Of course there would be fucking theatrics.

"Oh, Jesus..."

"You remember when Obama got re-elected and I stole all the ballots for Romney from the swing states?"

Kyle chuckled despite himself, lifting his head from his hands.

"Unfortunately, yes..." he replied, his reminiscing coming to a jarring holt when it dawned on him. "Wait, that's when it started?"

"Sort of. It put me on the map. It got me noticed. After that, I was being sort of scouted by all kinds of criminal organisations, all over the world. They were calling me a wunderkind! Can you believe it?" Cartman asked, laughing like the title still awed him. "Anyway... I wasn't too interested back then. I mean, one-time gigs were fun and all, but an actual fucking job? Nah, I wasn't into it as a kid. But then Folke contacted me when I was in college, and lucky for him I was pretty bored, and needed a job anyway. I did one job for him back in the states, convincing some corrupt senator in New York to invest all his money into a cutting edge new tech company with a driven, no-bullshit CEO - me. The payout was incredible, and Folke was impressed. He offered me more work, and it was way more lucrative and exciting than flipping burgers like every other loser I knew in college. The only catch was they operated mainly in Europe, Folke and his whole crew are Swedish. So whatever, I quit school and moved to Paris. I lived in a grubby little shithole at first but I was soon able to rent the place I have now. I told my mom I was doing an internship as a translator for American diplomats in France-"

"And she still thinks you're doing that now?" Kyle cut in, wincing at the thought of Cartman's clueless mother all alone in South Park.

"I guess so?" Cartman replied, with a short, uncomfortable shrug. "I haven't talked to her in, like, five years."

"At all?"

A prickling sympathy clutched Kyle's heart.

"Well, what the hell am I supposed to say to her?" Cartman asked, testy for the first time. "What do you tell your parents?"

Kyle frowned, shoulders drawing up.

"N-n-nothing, I... I..." Kyle stuttered, choking on hypocrisy. "I haven't told them what I do either..."

Cartman folded his arms and arched a knowing eyebrow at him. Knowing because for the first time in four, isolated, ironically disconnected years in Kyle's life of computers, and coding, he was actually having a conversation with someone whose experiences reflected his. It had been so long since he had talked to somebody who knew every part of him. It was a lukewarm comfort when that person happened to be Cartman, and he could see through every self-preserving lie Kyle told himself.

"B-b-but that's different!" Kyle argued, heat crawling up his throat. "I... I don't talk to them because I wanna protect them-"

"Well, that's very thoughtful of you," Cartman cut in, sipping at his wine.

Kyle glared at Cartman across the table. At least he felt guilty about his estrangement from his family.

"More thoughtful than you, at least..."

Cartman didn't bow to Kyle's glowering look, didn't scowl. Instead, he smirked, amused as if Kyle was not even half-serious.

"Does this mean we're talking about you now?" he asked.

"No, we're still on you," Kyle replied, sipping at his drink.

"I've brought you up to speed, haven't I?"

"No. No, I still don't know..." Kyle drifted off, searching for something. He still wasn't ready, not yet. "How many languages do you speak? You say you work a lot in Europe."

"Fluently? Uhh... French, Italian, German, and Spanish..." Cartman counted each one on his fingers. "And I can get by in Hungarian, Dutch, and Swedish from what I've picked up from Folke."

"Wow, that's uh... pretty impressive." Kyle nodded, he may as well be truthful, after all. He was smiling before he could stop it.

Cartman grinned, and he straightened a slightly off-kilter fork with his index finger as his eyes roamed the table.

"Thanks..."

"It seems to have cured your xenophobia at least so, you know, one good thing..."

Cartman chuckled, shaking his head and taking a sip of his wine.

"Alright, come on, it's your turn," Cartman coaxed, warmer than before. "You said you wanted to get this over with."

Kyle sighed, he was so close to giving in, to getting this over with, to wholeheartedly leaping at the chance of a connection, even with the first person he saw, even with the person he knew he shouldn't trust in a million years. But he was still reluctant, still afraid, when it was more convenient to live this life without questioning it, without introspection, but not exactly easier, especially on the heart.

"Why are you so interested in the first place?" he asked, trying to see if he could decode any ulterior motives, to gauge if it was worth it.

Cartman chuckled disbelievingly, as if it was obvious.

"How could I not be fucking interested?" he replied. "The last time I saw you it was winter break, and you were passed out on Stan's couch on Christmas Eve!" he smiled, glancing at Kyle's drink. "Maybe it's a good thing you're on the lemonade, you always were a lightweight... and now you're fucking 'Glitch!'"

Kyle jolted at the mention of his alias, looking around at the other diners.

"What the fuck, Cartman?!" he hissed.

Cartman shook his head, snickering.

"Don't worry, Kyle, I don't think anyone is gonna rat you out to Interpol here..."

Kyle couldn't help but smirk, eyebrows raised.

"Is that so?"

"What, you think I'm gonna do it? Those bastards have wanted me for years..."

Kyle laughed, soft and exasperated.

"Computer Sciences was your major, right?" Cartman asked, luring him into spilling all. After all the things they had done, graduation seemed like a lifetime ago and he was surprised and...  _flattered_... that his major was deemed worth remembering.

He wrung his hands on the table, still wrestling with his decision. With a deep, steadying breath, he finally relented.

"Yeah, there were, uh, plenty of job opportunities in California, but more unpaid internships and I was going on tons of interviews just to get  _something_." Kyle began. "A friend from college was into all this 'hacktivism,' stuff but his connections were mainly shady. He asked me if I would be interested in helping a gang of art thieves operating in Philadelphia steal a piece from the Institute of Contemporary Art and the money was... it was too good to refuse. Besides, I was bored out of my fucking mind. It'd been a long time since I'd had an adventure. So I went to Philadelphia and... even though I didn't physically steal the piece, I'll never forget the rush. No matter how I feel about the jobs I've done, all the guilt and the regret, that rush was still perfect, and scary, and... addictive." Kyle breathed the word, as if it shouldn't be uttered. Despite everything, he could feel his heartrate pick up and his neurons ignite with the thrilling, stomach-flipping memory. "After all the shit we saw growing up, nothing had ever excited me more. I guess after graduating I felt so powerless, stuck in this boring, mundane routine, waiting for this uncertain future to happen and when we stole that sculpture it didn't just feel like we were taking that. It felt like I was taking control again, you know?" He shook his head, to dissuade himself from getting carried away. "But that's ridiculous. I'm not a kid anymore. I have plenty of money in my savings to just up and quit."

"But you haven't..."

Kyle bristled, affronted by the sudden judgement after all that he had shared, and the doubt buried in Cartman's words.

"W-w-well, no, but I'm going to..." Kyle stammered, hating how irresolute he was coming off right now.

"When?"

Kyle sat up a little straighter then, now he had a firmer answer to give, resolute once more.

"After this job has finished."

Cartman frowned, staring at Kyle like he had misheard.

"What the fu- seriously?!" he exclaimed.

Kyle's brow furrowed.

"Yeah?"

"Why the hell why would you wanna quit, Kyle?" Cartman asked, laughing incredulously. "Look around you!" He gestured to the beautiful beach and the yacht-lined sea, and all Kyle saw were tainted things he could only half-appreciate. "You really wanna give all this up?"

"Yeah, because it's not real!" Kyle replied. "It's fake, and a sham, and we're always five seconds away from the fucking rug being pulled out from under our feet! Aren't you tired of looking over your shoulder all the time? I want to relax! I want a real, normal life again!"

"And what's a 'real, normal life,' huh?" Cartman asked, eyes narrowed and question sardonic. "A house in the suburbs with a wife, and a dog, and two point five kids? Do you not see how lame that is?"

"Sounds pretty perfect to me... " Kyle murmured. "And the sooner I can have it the better." He sighed, shaking his head. "I've just got to get out, and after tomorrow night I'm finished."

"I bet you won't do it..."

"Excuse me?"

Indignation welled up inside Kyle, sudden, and smothering, and... familiar. Kyle should have expected their conversation to fall in step with their habitual rhythm.

"I bet you won't do it! After tomorrow night goes well, you'll realise that nothing will ever be as exciting as this, and you won't wanna stop. One more job will turn into two more jobs, which will turn into another, what, four years, and then maybe we'll see each other again. It's like you said, you're addicted now and you can't just... quit cold turkey!"

Kyle fidgeted in his seat, as he considered that might be true. But he wasn't going to accept it, or resign himself to it as fact.

"I have to try, Cartman..."

"So tomorrow is really gonna be it, then?" Cartman asked, seeking reassurance as his own was fading.

Kyle nodded, and Cartman slowly began to copy him. A gentle bob of acceptance.

"Well, then..." Cartman lifted his glass to Kyle with a smile. "It'll be an honour to be a part of your swansong...  _Glitch_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of background! I hope you guys enjoyed and thank you for reading, I'd love to know your thoughts! (also, I apologise for any bad French, pfft!)


	4. Getaway

Obsessing over Cartman was a habit Kyle thought he had grown out of, and yet ever since their catch up his words, his flashy grin, and his whole persona, changed and yet familiar, had clung to his mind like sickly sweet molasses. Whereas Kyle merely existed in this criminal world, pragmatic, self-flagellating, and rejecting it, Cartman seemed to be breezing through it, a content, glamorous butterfly. His nefarious childhood exploits and Folke's tutelage had provided a steely chrysalis, Kyle supposed. But at least Cartman had that excuse, that he had started off young, when he was impressionable and didn't know any better. And even if Kyle knew otherwise, he was sure that Cartman already had that excuse up his sleeve if he found himself in trouble. Kyle didn't even have that justification, and try as he might he couldn't remember the sudden, hot feeling that had rushed into his veins when he decided he was going to take up his old college friend's offer of flying all the way to Philadelphia to commit a crime. Was it anger? Frustration at the stagnation of his life? Fiery adrenaline? Kyle wished he could remember, could rationalise it, but it was no use.

Instead of dwelling on the past, searching his memory for fleeting, visceral sensation, he focused on the present and the near future. He had pored over the detailed digital blueprint of the Bisset mansion like it was a gripping best-seller you would read poolside, and mentally earmarked what percentage of his cut he was going to give to Ike. Eighty million split five ways was enough to write off Ike's student loans and start his new life with.

But he had to get the damn necklace first.

He was sat in a rented unmarked van that was black all over, and parked on the side of a dusty road. The van was shrouded by the verdant, bulbous bushes that grew contagiously in the area, and the evening dimming without the interference of streetlights. In fact, the only artificial light was coming from the Bisset mansion only a five minute walk away. They illuminated the grand, beachside property like it was its very own jewel on display, a glowing signal for the arriving guests.

Kyle's fingers flew over his keyboard, numbers cascading down his screen as swiftly as violent rain, and windows appeared before vanishing into thin air as firewalls were breached and encryptions rerouted. The van had been custom built for surveillance purposes, just the vehicle Kyle needed to be able to monitor every security camera in the sprawling mansion. The triptych monitors soon resembled bleak, futuristic glass windows, with mundane figures moving around in monochrome. Service staff raced about holding trays high in the air, the privileged guests chuckled and sipped at champagne in the large foyer, and the vault in the basement glimmered like a treasure chest even beneath the grainy film.

The double doors shuddered as a fist pounded against it.

"You ready, Glitch?"

Kyle rolled his eyes. He knew he would have to see Cartman again tonight, but that didn't mean he wasn't dreading it any less. He leaned forward to open the door.

"Yeah, I just-"

Kyle's words flew out the door at the sight of Cartman wearing an unfairly flattering tuxedo. His pinkish sunburn was already mellowing into an envious bronze, and his slicked back hair only brightened his grin and drew Kyle's eyes to the soft, round apples of his chubby cheeks. Endearing, and boyish, and...  _actually fucking handsome_. No wonder Kyle could barely speak, when he couldn't even admit it to himself.

"I... I, uh..."

Cartman chuckled, golden eyes twinkling like a pampered feline.

"Clean up good, don't I?" he teased, smoothing down his lapels and tilting his chin upwards.

Kyle couldn't answer. He could feel his jaw wavering, his mouth willing words but none would come.

Cartman wilted slightly, grin fading into a puzzled smirk. He arched an eyebrow.

"Dude, if I'm not allowed to stare at you then it shouldn't be cool for you to stare at me," he pointed out. "It's only fair."

Kyle's mouth clamped shut immediately, and he hoped the flush crawling up his throat was concealed by the dark, shadowy interior of the van.

"Um, sorry, I-I-I didn't mean to. I just-"

Cartman rolled his eyes.

"Relax, Ky-  _Glitch_ ," he quickly corrected himself. He peeked at the front of the van, where Folke's crew were lounging against the hood and having a smoke. Cartman turned to Kyle. "Shit, I really need to watch that..."

"Yes," Kyle replied, humourless and still simmering. "Please do."

Cartman was unaffected, glancing inside the van and the glowing wall of security footage.

"What's all that?" he asked, climbing into the van before Kyle could protest.

It wasn't the most spacious of rides, after all.

"The security cameras. I need to track your movements so I know which camera to disable and when."

"You're gonna do it one at a time?" Cartman asked, crouched beside Kyle now. His face was cast in a silvery, lifeless pallor as he stared at the screens. "Won't that alert whoever is monitoring it that something's up?"

"It shouldn't," Kyle replied. "I'm recording everything simultaneously so when you enter, say, the foyer." He double-clicked and zoomed in on the footage of guests conversing. "I can take the genuine footage offline and just play pre-recorded footage. They'll be none the wiser."

"Huh..."

Cartman's voice trailed off, saying nothing more, and out of the corner of his eye Kyle caught Cartman's reflection in the monitor. The corner of his mouth had twitched upward into a preoccupied smile, his eyes wide and fascinated as he studied the footage as if it were an oil-painting masterpiece. Kyle bit back a smile, emboldened to tease Cartman for letting it slip that he was actually impressed by him. After all these years, the urge to rip on Cartman was resurfacing, helplessly and unexpected.

He turned his head, goading remark at the ready, but was unprepared for Cartman to follow him, and remind him just how close they were in proximity. He was suddenly met with patient, attentive eyes, and flushed cheeks. Up close, he could even spot freckles coming out of hibernation on Cartman's nose.

"Umm..." Kyle whispered, unable to peel his eyes away until Cartman did.

The word - _sound_  - escaped Kyle's mouth, warm and humid between them. Conscious of his breathing, Kyle felt it become more laboured and Cartman seemed to be copying him. The scent of his rich cologne was heady, almost intoxicating when it landed on the tip of Kyle's tongue, prickling his taste buds. Uncharacteristically, Cartman's eyes were patient and still, blurring and melding into a dangerous topaz sun the longer Kyle stared. He tried to focus on something else, gaze searching for a safer spot. His gaze followed the path of a small, button nose and down to a pair of parted, full lips.

_Anywhere but there._

Kyle ducked his head, clearing his throat and turning away.

"I-I-I need to give you your EP," he stammered, clambering for the duffel bag at his feet.

Rummaging through it, he pulled out a small, flesh-coloured ear piece and handed it to Cartman. Without question Cartman slipped it in his ear, it was the first time his gaze avoided Kyle tonight.

"It's switched on already," Kyle explained, opening up the correlating program on his laptop. "Just start talking and it will register your pitch."

"Alright... let's see..." Cartman's eyes wandered the van as he pondered possible topics of conversation. "Oh, yeah! Check this out!"

Cartman reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out a crisp, lavender card.

"What is that?" Kyle asked as it was handed to him.

"It's how I'm gonna get into the party," Cartman replied, beaming.

Kyle stroked the bumpy ridges of the invitation as he read:

_You are cordially invited to the Bisset Foundation's annual auction._

_Hosted by Sophia and Pierre Bisset._

_In aid of the Bisset Foundation's continuing devotion to the children of France and the world._

Kyle's own fascinated smile wavered and disappeared when he remembered what the point of this auction was exactly. He may have wanted to provide for his own future, and his little brother's as well, but how much help would he be denying children less fortunate than he ever was? What about their futures?

His throat clenched. The guilt was like furious, righteous fingers wrapping around his neck and squeezing. He gulped, tried to free himself. His eyes stung just as he was starting to breathe again.

_Is this really worth it?_

Kyle had no answer. His previous justifications were crushed by the weight of the question, damning and paralysing.

"How... h-h-how did you get one of these?" he asked, trying desperately to move on.

"An hour or so on Instagram eventually yielded results," Cartman replied. "One of the guests posted hers and it was pretty easy to find a similar paper and mimic the calligraphy."

Kyle's eyes still roamed the invitation, and he noticed a name at the top.

"Marcus Van Der Berg?" He looked up at Cartman, smiling now. "Are you gonna be speaking Dutch tonight?"

"Nah, I'm keeping it simple," he replied, taking the invitation from Kyle and slipping it back in his pocket. "Marcus is from New York." He tilted his chin once more and spoke in a fancy, mid-Atlantic accent. "Upper East Side, as a matter of fact."

Kyle chuckled, a soft, involuntary hum. He glanced at the monitors, and spotted the time.

"Shit, it's nearly eight," he said, slipping into his usual post-gig urgency. "We better run through the plan before you guys head in."

"Sure." Cartman nodded, all business now too.

Cartman jumped out the van, smoothing down his tux before rallying the rest of the guys. Kyle heard them all mumble, and he rolled his stool over to the open doors, ready to give a final rundown of the plan.

They were all in front of him now, lingering cigarette smoke mingling with Cartman's cologne. Kyle cleared his throat, before he began.

"Alright, so we know the necklace is in a vault in the East Wing with the other items up for auction, which requires an access code and a recognised fingerprint to enter. There'll be a security patrol at the top of the stairwell. The security detail as a whole shifts every hour. Their rotation is sort of anti-clockwise, so that means the perimeter patrol of the eastside of the property will be shifting to the top of the stairwell at about nine. Anders and Klaus you work the stairwell, Gunner and Bode you remain outside."

Folke's burly crew all nodded, kitted out in their mock security uniforms.

"Understood..." Anders replied, low and gruff.

"I'll be tracking everyone's movements via the security feed," Kyle continued. "I've hacked into the mainframe already so I can record footage of inactivity. It will be displayed on the monitors in the security lodge at the foot of the property, so as not to tip off the guys there when I disable every security camera. We can all communicate through the EPs, if we run into trouble. Once Mitch is inside the motion sensors that trip off the laser systems will be disabled, and he'll be free to take the necklace. You guys rendez vous at the back entrance of the house, and I'll pull up just a little ways from the gates. Are we all clear?"

Cartman nodded, eyes twinkling with impending mischief as he looked around the group.

"I think so."

"Then let's head in," Klaus said.

The crew lumbered off, with Cartman following close behind them.

"Hey..."

Kyle was just about to the shut the doors when he heard Cartman's voice. He was grinning when he looked up at him.

"Good luck."

Kyle returned the smile, however weakly, however hard it was to keep telling himself he just needed to get through this.

In all honesty, he just needed to get out.

"Break a leg..." he replied, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

* * *

Eric stepped into the foyer of the Bisset Mansion, and suddenly that monochrome party happening in miniature on Kyle's screen flourished into self-satisfied conversation, swishing gowns in sumptuous colours, and delicate strings. The massive chandelier made the cream coloured tiles sparkle like the jewellery adorning the ears, necks, and wrists of the guests, the reflections of the light glowing on their contented faces. A lady carved from marvel posed at the landing where the two grand staircases met. Below her, a string quartet played. The auction was scheduled to start in an hour. Eric had no time to enjoy himself like he belonged there at all.

He swiped a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. He took a long sip as his eyes scanned the smartly-dressed crowd. He soon spotted Sophia and Pierre, tentatively attempting to relax after no doubt months of planning for this event. Eric almost felt bad that he was about to wreck it all. Guilt during any of his jobs was like an annoying little housefly that was easily batted away, tiny and insignificant, and easily soothed by his payout. He took another gulp of champagne, before making his way over to the siblings.

"Sophia!" He beamed. "Pierre! Bonsoir!"

Eric pulled them to him in a one-armed embrace, both of them receiving the traditional kiss on each cheek. They didn't protest or balk, pleasant, charmed smiles betraying any surprise. Pierre didn't even notice that the clearance pass so carelessly hanging from his back pocket had been snatched. Eric knew security was tight enough at events like these that even the hosts had to be prepared to be scrutinised by rented security detail when entering sealed-off areas. Although, he supposed people like him performing heists like these did nothing to allay such suspicion.

"Wonderful party, truly!" Eric grinned, in a blue blood drawl.

"Merci, uh..." Pierre remembered himself, brow furrowing and he tucked some sandy blond hair behind his ear. "Sorry, but I don't believe we've met..."

"Oh dear, how presumptuous of me! Forgive me, meeting the both of you is just very overwhelming, I..." As Eric patted at his lapels self-consciously, he saw the brother and sister exchange sheepish, flattered glances at one another. Eric soon composed himself, holding out his hand to shake. "Marcus Van Der Berg. I'm a cousin of Mila's?"

"Ah, it's a pleasure to meet you, Marcus!" Pierre replied, gripping his hand tightly and shaking it.

"It's a shame we haven't been introduced before," Sophia added, with a gentle handshake to match her waifish frame. "I visit Amsterdam quite often..."

"Oh, I don't live in Amsterdam. You can trace my roots there, but I live New York, as a matter of fact."

"Oh, I love New York!" Sophia gushed, with a gleam in her caramel eyes.

"Me too, it's a wonderful city. I really ought to start giving back to it like you both do for Paris... well, for the whole world!" Eric said, with a self-deprecating laugh. "Your recent interview in L'Express was absolutely fascinating."

Eric hid his smug grin behind his glass as he watched Sophia and Pierre lower their chins to conceal their own self-satisfied smiles. Flattery was a simple manipulation tactic, but one that yielded fantastic results.

"You're such an inspiration truly," Eric continued with a sigh. "I'd love to know how this all got off the ground. Sometimes I barely know where to begin with all my ideas!"

They laughed amongst each other, and all of a sudden Eric was just another socialite with a philanthropic streak, indistinguishable and invisible.

"I'm particularly interested in your funding project for inner city children to have easy access to university courses. It would be wonderful if I could set up something similar back home, especially with how expensive it is to study in the states. "

Sophia nodded, impressed and enthusiastic.

"Well, it would be our pleasure to share our insight with you."

"Oh yes, please do!" Eric gushed. "But I must ask where the  _toilettes_  is first, sil vous plait?"

"Down the hall and to your left," Sophia replied with a smile.

Eric nodded.

"Merci..."

He slipped away from the crowd, abandoning his champagne on a stylish glass side table as he made his way down the dimly lit corridor to the washroom. Locking the door behind him, he removed his bowtie and shoved it in the back pocket of his pants. He pulled a pair of glasses and a small comb from the inside pocket of his jacket. With a pained grimace, he slipped the glasses on and ruined his slicked back hairdo, combing it into bangs that skimmed his eyebrows. He ruffled the bangs with his fingers, attempting to create the look of a frazzled, stressed out employee with responsibility teetering on his shoulders. He frowned at his reflection, but supposed he couldn't be glamorous all the time, when so often this job was anything but.

Satisfied, he slipped out of the washroom and marched brusquely down a long corridor. He passed harried catering staff, acknowledging them with quick nods. He turned his head to make sure they were out of earshot when he communicated to the rest of the crew.

"On my way to the stairwell," he murmured.

"Copy that," Klaus replied. "Heading there now."

Eric straightened his shoulders, turning a corner and striding with purpose toward the two, stern security guards perched at the top of the stairwell.

"Good evening, gentlemen." He greeted them with a stereotypically refined English accent.

"Guests are not allowed past this point, monsieur," a bearded security guard informed him, lifting his hand.

Eric frowned, brows knitting together as if he didn't expect to encounter such opposition.

"But I'm not a guest..." he replied. "Oh, of course! You'll need some identification..."

Eric reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the stolen clearance pass, plain and printed with the security firm's own logo.

"Daniel Waterston, assistant to Monsieur Arnoult at Bonchamps Auctioneers? I'm meeting him in the vault in about ten minutes, so if you wouldn't mind..."

The security guards glanced at each other, unable to argue. They both stepped aside.

"Of course, monsieur..."

Eric nodded at them with a small smile.

"Merci beaucoup..."

He trotted down the stairs, entering a narrow basement.

"God, it feels like I'm the only one who does any work around here..."

"Shut up, asshole!" Gunner snapped.

"Me and Klaus just took over at the stairwell."

"Just approaching the vault..." Eric replied, wondering if his delight was evident in his voice. "You got me covered, Glitch?"

There was no answer. Only the echo of his footsteps as he approached the vault.

"Glitch?" Eric asked.

No answer, and Eric felt an embarrassed, irritated flush rise behind his ears at Kyle's ignorance. What was so fucking hard about replying a simple 'yes' after all? Whatever, Eric guessed that's just what Kyle was like on jobs. Laser focused, and sparing with his communication. Why bother changing now? On his last ever job? Eric tried to smother the ache in his chest, the twinge of his heart pointlessly protesting against such a notion. He had only just been reunited with Kyle, and now he may never see him again. How the hell was that fair?

Eric shook his head. He couldn't think about that now. He had a job to do too, after all. He could try to change Kyle's mind when the job was finished, or at the very least beg for his address so he could plan a trip stateside.

He reached the vault, a heavy, silver shield guarding the Bisset family treasure trove, but it may as well have been made out of paper after Kyle's electronic manipulation. Grinning, Eric ignored the now obsolete infrared fingerprint scanner, and the chunky keypad and reached for the handle. But instead of opening the door to reveal the Grand Arc-on-Ciel waiting for him in all its prismatic, iridescent glory, he was met with resistance.

"What... what the hell?" Eric muttered, panic seeping out of his pores as he tried the door again with a sweaty hand.

"What's wrong?" Anders asked, taut with worry.

"It's locked!"

"What?!" Klaus exclaimed.

"The door is still fucking locked... Glitch, what the hell?!" Eric demanded, frantic. He was still trying the door, pulling and tugging at the handle like it was a stress toy for his mounting anger. "You fucking asshole, what the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

"I..."

Eric froze when Kyle's voice filled his ears. He was panting as he waited for his explanation.

"I'm sorry..."

"Yeah, you better fucking be! Open this door right now or-"

"I can't..."

Nausea, and fear, and confusion, and anger waged war inside Eric, grappling with each other for his attention.

"What?!"

His head was swimming in tumultuous panic, and a disorientating sense of betrayal he had never experience before. And still Eric was clambering for Kyle, for his reason as to why he was doing this.

"I said, I can't!" Kyle cried. Eric heard him sigh, crackly and muffled. "I... I-I-I'm sorry."

Before Eric could argue with him, plead with him, fucking yell at him some more for being the biggest asshole on the planet, there was some rustling, and a discomfiting, high pitched beep, niggling deep in his ear canal. It was followed by absolute, terrifying silence. Kyle had vanished.

"What the fuck?!" Eric yelled regardless, as if he could scream loud enough Kyle would hear him. Overcome with anger, he pounded his fist against the vault. "You're gonna fucking ruin everything! I-"

Suddenly, the hallway was bathed in red. Eric stopped, looked around and wondered if his rage was truly crowding his vision. Alarms blared, ricocheting off the walls in the small space, and Eric winced, covering his ears and tried to think of his way out above the deafening noise.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Anders and Klaus running towards him, as ferocious as jungle cats advancing on their unlucky prey.

"He crossed us!" Anders yelled, seething. "That son of a bitch fucking crossed us!"

Eric's words were stolen by Klaus, bulging arm pressed to his chest and nearly tackling him to the floor.

"We have to get out of here!" he screamed in his ear.

Eric helplessly watched the vault disappear from sight as he was dragged out of danger. It had all but disappeared from his mind too. Terrified, he could only think of one thing - finding Kyle before Folke and his gang could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figuring out how to end this chapter was hard. Suspense is hard. Writing Eric and Kyle having cute, blushy moments together? So easy! I hope you enjoyed that (among other things), and thank you for reading! I'd love to know your thoughts!


	5. Where Loyalties Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm placing a warning here for violent scenes ahead. Nothing too graphic or gory, but a lot of mentions of blood, and some threats of violence. Please tread carefully. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Another punch colliding with his jaw pulled Kyle back from his descent into unconsciousness. He was glad for it. He had stopped wailing and groaning at the punches and kicks being dealt to him what seemed like an eternity ago. He was becoming far too desensitised, disoriented, clawing into consciousness with broken fingers. He daren't let go. After all, this was nothing compared to what they could do to him while he was out cold.

Something had cracked. His mouth filled with more blood from the stinging tear in his lip as his head was forcibly turned left by Klaus' fist. He wanted to spit before he choked, or gagged on the acrid, copper taste. But, as his lungs seemed to creak with every heaving, bruised breath, and his skull throbbed with deep, yawning pain, all he could manage was parting his mottled lips and drooling on the floor. In the dim light of the dank warehouse, the elastic trail of scarlet saliva seemed to gleam, vibrant.

"Ha!" Klaus laughed, manic with glee and anger all at once. "Look at him drooling!"

His fingers were suddenly grasping Kyle's hair, forcing his head towards him and he seethed as a few strands were pulled from the roots. Kyle squinted, his eyelids were swollen, aching curtains crowding his vision.

"Not so fucking smart now, are you?!"

Klaus yanked his hand from Kyle's hair before he could respond. His head hung limp, and the sadistic gangsters chuckled as more blood dripped from his mouth.

There was a punch to his gut that sent Kyle's stomach hurtling into his throat. His eyes widened, and he gasped desperately for air, hoarse and wheezing. Although it strained his arms already contorted into an unnatural position - wrists behind his back and bound to a chair - Kyle didn't have the strength to sit up. He sat, hunched and crumpled like an abused chew toy.

"Mitch, don't you want to get in on this?"

Kyle lifted his gaze to find Cartman standing further back than his associates, half-concealed by shadow. His arms were folded across his chest, studying the scene in front of him like it was a spectacle to be judged for his amusement. Although Kyle could remember being dragged out of the van by Folke's thugs and seeing Cartman through the blur of pounding fists and vicious snarls, looking pale, and wide-eyed, and just as terrified as Kyle had felt. He couldn't have been imagining it, could he? He couldn't tell what was real anymore, where the nightmare began, or if it would ever end. Funny to think he had dreamt of it all being over tonight...

"Nah, you guys go ahead," Cartman replied, bored. "I'm not the muscle, I'm the brains... and the face, come to think of it..."

"Come on!" Klaus barked, arms spread wide and threatening. "He lost your fucking money too!"

"Aren't you angry?!" Gunner asked, demanded.

Cartman glanced between the gang, deliberating his answer. His eyes eventually met Kyle's, and if he was trying to tell him something with his long, plaintive stare Kyle couldn't begin to decipher the message. He watched Cartman's chest rise and fall with a sigh, his eyes hardening and more inaccessible than ever. He began to nod.

"You know what? I am..."

Panic, chilling and severe, filled Kyle's veins as he watched Cartman pick up a thick, hefty plank of wood from the floor. He lifted his head, his breaths coming at a rapid, uncontrollable pace as Cartman practically strolled over to him, swinging the plank as lackadaisically as a batter stepping up to the plate. Kyle tried to silently plead, tried to twist his broken, bruised, bleeding features into prayers of mercy, but it was no use. Cartman wasn't paying any attention to him, just carefully studying his weapon of choice.

Something shifted then, his contemplative face creasing with a tight scowl, and Cartman had swung the plank at Anders. Another crack, louder than before, and Anders cried out as blood sprayed from his nose. Clutching his face, he crumpled to the floor. Kyle tried to gasp, to ask what the fuck was happening, but he could only part his lips in an attempt at sound.

"You fucking prick!" Gunner yelled, lunging at Cartman but seemingly without thinking he swung the plank at Gunner's head too.

It met the side of his skull and sent him crashing to the floor.

Kyle tugged at his bonds when Klaus leapt at Cartman from behind, arms as thick as a boa constrictor wrapping around his neck and squeezing just as tight. Cartman's eyes flew wide open, his face flushing a breathless shade of red. He dropped the plank, his arms losing all co-ordination to desperation and panic. Soon enough, his brow furrowed, determined, and he gritted his teeth and shoved his elbow into Klaus' nose. Klaus shouted, eyes squeezing shut as he loosened his hold on Cartman. Taking advantage of his shock, Cartman grabbed Klaus by his shoulders and head butted him.

It sent Klaus stumbling backwards, tripping over Gunner and landing in a sprawling pile on top of him. Cartman was stumbling too, hand pressed to his forehead as he tried to find his balance. Kyle just stared, slack-jawed and panting. Their eyes met, both of them covered in blood, and trembling. They held each other's gazes for what felt like far too long when none of them had no idea what the fuck they should say.

Cartman swallowed. A grave, uneasy seriousness clouding his blood-smattered features.

"Come on... " he murmured, making his way to Kyle.

He crouched down behind him, freeing Kyle from the rope binding his wrists together with jittering fingers.

"We have to get out of here..."

"Huh?" Kyle asked, head spinning with this unexpected rescue... among other things.

"I said, we have to get out of here!" Cartman snapped, every movement thrumming with adrenaline and panic.

He rushed over to a still unconscious Anders, rummaging his jacket pockets for a set of car keys. The gentle rustling of metal set Kyle's teeth on edge. He brought his sore, freed arms in front of him, and stared at the vicious bands of red wrapped around his wrists. Without another word, he was pulled from his chair and dragged out of the warehouse. Cartman's grip on his already tender wrist wasn't exactly welcome or comfortable, but it was firm, and secure, and it told an increasingly drowsy Kyle that he was getting out of there.

The mild evening against his sweaty, blood-stained face was a jolt to his system, as was the sight of Folke stamping on his cigarette and charging towards them.

"Hey!" he barked. "Just where the hell do you think you're going with-"

He was cut off by Cartman's fist connecting with his jaw. He lost his balance, cane slipping from his grip, and he collapsed hard onto the pavement. Kyle couldn't help but stare at the formidable Folke sprawled on the sidewalk, helplessly grasping for his cane.

"Come on!"

He huffed as he was shoved into the passenger seat of the stolen car, trembling and aching as he waited mere seconds for Cartman to cross to the driver's seat. He sat, slumped, and before he could even muster the energy to ask Cartman where they were going, or what they were going to do now, the car lurched forward. Kyle's stomach was in his throat once more as they flew down the street, and he was hurtling into darkness again.

* * *

It was the early hours by the time they reached Paris, daylight just starting to break the evening's seal. Despite the chaos, the uncertainty, the thousand volts of panic surging through him, Kyle slept for the entire journey to Toulon airport, and the subsequent plane ride to Paris. He was only awoken from his oppressive sleep for short, hurried intervals. In his groggy, hurting state the only thing he could clearly visualise, piece together from this long, fractured night was Cartman. His wide eyes, the hushed, desperate murmurings of his name, firm, shaking hands steering him into safety. Kyle remembered Cartman muttering that everything was going to be okay as they abandoned the car ten minutes away from the airport, trudging through the unfamiliar darkness together. He remembered squinting at the bright lights of the nocturnal check-in desk, and hearing quick, quivering French pouring out of Cartman's mouth as he bought their tickets, with a broad, fake grin to allay whatever concerning looks the staff were giving this strange man and his beaten companion.

Kyle had no idea if Cartman had slept during the flight. He remembered stirring and feeling Cartman's leg pressed up against his. He had turned his head and saw Cartman preoccupied with the eerie view of black nothingness outside, and gnawing at his thumb. There was a cup of coffee that was just as black placed in front of him. Kyle was still too exhausted to begin attempting questions. It was so easy to just fall asleep again, so easy not to entertain the possibility that there was more suffering waiting for him, so easy to think he hadn't been lured into further danger. Watching Cartman beat up Folke and his crew, those he was supposed to have some kind of warped loyalty to in this business of dishonesty, Kyle had no idea what to expect of him anymore, couldn't discern his tactics or motivations. Had he even betrayed them at all?

Cartman was leading him to his apartment now, both of them trekking the winding staircase of the grand, old building. The sound of their echoing footsteps reached the dizzyingly high ceiling and swooped back down again. With every step Kyle told himself it was another chance to run, to escape, to find the nearest hospital. But it was impossible to wrench himself away from Cartman's side, his only familiar thing, his constant, for better or worse tonight. They were walking down a corridor now, Kyle's chance of escape was shrinking.

"Good thing the door is still locked, huh?" Cartman asked with a weak chuckle when they reached his front door. He cleared his throat and averted his gaze when Kyle glared at him.

Opening the door, Cartman then turned on the lights to reveal a spacious, open-plan apartment. Kyle's shoulders were being grabbed and turned toward Cartman before he could absorb his surroundings properly. Instead, he was the one being scrutinised.

"Shit..." Cartman whispered, frowning and brows knitted together as he inspected Kyle's face. "No offense, dude, but you look even worse than I thought..."

Kyle didn't know how to respond, how to feel that he was here in the first place.

Cartman sighed.

"Here..."

He led Kyle to the kitchen, before grabbing a chair from his dining table and placing it near the sink. Kyle's movements were stiff and mechanical as he sat down, aching and wary still.

"I have a first aid kit around here somewhere..." Cartman said, as he began to search through his cupboards. "And you should have had a fucking icepack hours ago, but I was a little preoccupied getting you through the airport."

With that, Cartman reached into his freezer. The contents crunched as he rummaged around, finally removing a wet, pale blue bag. Kyle could feel his heart thudding in his ears at the uneasy image of his own body shoved into a freezer, like the unlucky souls in those gangster movies. He imagined himself blue and lifeless, all those hopes, and dreams, and aspirations for something better drained out of him. All it would take is a quick, effective blow to his head. He gulped, and felt himself start to tremble again, if Cartman wanted to lull him into a false sense of security with his chatting it wasn't fucking working.

"I had to cover your ass up to a lot of strangers," he was saying now. He shook his head. "It's actually a good thing you don't speak French."

Kyle couldn't just sit there. Fretting over the worst possible outcome without actually doing something about it. He could run, he could deal his own incapacitating blow, he could... arm himself. He looked around the kitchen for some sort of weapon, some shield. He soon spotted a block of knives. Fingers flexing he slowly lifted himself off the seat, careful to do so without a sound. His palm was damp with sweat as he grasped one, the thrilling, soft sound of metal being pulled from wood was emboldening, encouraging Kyle to grip it a little tighter... even though he had no idea what he was going to say when Cartman realised what he was doing... Kyle wasn't a hundred percent sure himself. He inched forward.

"I knew I had one!" Cartman exclaimed, finding a small first aid kit in the cupboard above him. He turned around. "You can never be too- what are you doing?"

The first aid kit was dropped on the kitchen counter as Cartman raised his arms in defence, calmer than Kyle was expecting but eyes still drawn to the blade in front of him.

"I'll slash your fucking throat if you try anything!" Kyle cried, the words fuelled his hysteria. Tears scorched his eyes. "Don't think I won't, Cartman!"

"Kyle, you need to calm down," Cartman replied, a measured request hidden in his voice.

"No! I'm not letting my fucking guard down so you can finish what Anders and those fucking thugs started!"

Cartman's face fell.

"What?" Calmness for survival's sake gave way to agitated incredulity. "Jesus, Kyle, it isn't like that! I swear!"

"How the hell do I know that, huh?!" Kyle demanded, tears sliding down his cheeks.

Cartman's face hardened then, the same way Kyle remembered it did before he struck Anders. But up close, Kyle noticed his scowl wobble, his eyes mist over like Kyle had already pricked him with the knife now shaking in his grasp. He wilted at the sight, more frightened and unsure than ever. Nausea filled his lethargic stomach.

"Why the hell would I beat those guys up, steal my fucking scary boss's car, and drag you all the way to Paris just to double-cross and kill you? What the fuck kind of reason would I have to do that?"

Kyle had no idea what to say, lost in threadbare breaths. His only explanation, drenched in panic, had been swallowed up by the night.

"I'll tell you what reason I have!" Cartman added, lowering his arms and moving closer despite the potential danger. "The  _real_  reason! It's because despite of what you think of me, what I've done with my life, what  _we've_  done to each other, I couldn't just stand by and let them hurt you! And while I was trying to think of a way to get you out of there, and I had to actually  _watch_  them hurt you, I fucking hated every second of it! It's because out of all the people I've left behind, you're the one person I think about everyday! I couldn't forget you even if I wanted to, and sometimes I wish I could!"

Kyle blinked, lowering his wrist slightly. Cartman's unexpected confession was like another punch to steal his breath and leave his head whirring.

"You... y-y-you think about me?" Kyle asked, and he knew it was lame, but he didn't care. He had to be sure he had heard correctly, because it couldn't possibly be true... after all this time...

"Yes!" Cartman cried, as it was so damn obvious. "God, I think about... what you're doing with your life, if you're happy, if you're successful, if you're in love with somebody, if you're satisfied with what you have! I remember how smart you are, and that gleam in your eye when you were standing up for yourself, or fighting for something, or even fighting with me! I think about.." Cartman's shoulders dropped, his eyes rolling to the ceiling. "Your hair, and your mouth, and the way you smell and most of all, I... I-I think about how much I regret never telling you in high school how crazy I was about you! How..." He frowned, lowered his head and took a soft, fragile breath. He was still frowning when he looked into Kyle's eyes, unrelenting and earnest. "How I was the one who saved you in San Francisco, and if it would change anything if you had known. Clearly not, because it's nearly twenty years later and I'm doing it all over again!"

Kyle's mouth opened, a shaky gasp leaving his mouth, and he wanted to cry but the shock had rendered everything in his body frozen. Cartman had been his saviour, his guardian angel when he never believed in them, and he felt cheated, and betrayed, and elated, and relieved at the revelation.

_He's always been so many people... even to me..._

"And even now," Cartman continued, stepping forward with enraged eyes and gritted teeth. "After you've royally fucked me over, put us in this shitstorm, and cost me millions, still the only thing I wanna do is... is..."

Suddenly, Kyle's wrist was being grabbed and lowered curtly to his side. Cartman was gripping it so hard Kyle feared he would crush his bones. But before he could protest, Cartman's mouth collided with his. His eyes flew open, his palm opening and the knife dropping to the kitchen floor with a clang. He found himself clutching Cartman's shoulder, gripping his shirt with the intent to push him away, but just as he had proven throughout their childhood, adolescence - and hell, their fucking  _adulthood_  it seemed - Cartman wasn't getting away that easily. And as always, soaring in his emotional stratosphere, Kyle helplessly pulled Cartman further into his orbit.

The kiss hurt, hard and lip-crushing, as if Cartman was kissing him with the force of all these stifled, unrequited years. Kyle whimpered, pained and tinged with a frightening, unwelcome need when blood trickled from his fat lip, warm and stinging. A string of red saliva connected their lips when they separated, stained with blood and flushed from pressure. Cartman hadn't let go of Kyle's wrist. Their bodies were thrumming with shock, adrenaline, another chemical Kyle didn't want to think about. He could feel the heat emanating from Cartman's face, and he ripped his darkened gaze away from him with a scowl.

The beat soon dragged on, leaving them panting. Cartman soon wiped his mouth, and it alerted Kyle to the blood still oozing from his split lip. Cartman looked up at him, frowning. He lifted his hand to Kyle's chin to clean up the mess but Kyle stopped him, raising his own uneasy hand to his face. The blood was smeared across his skin, but he didn't care.

Kyle watched Cartman's Adam's apple bob as he cleared his throat.

"So... will you please let me fix your face now?"

Kyle nodded, mind adrift as he sat down and let Cartman tend to his wounds in silence.

* * *

After nursing the tennis-ball sized welt on his head with an ice-pack and applying a generous amount of antiseptic to the cuts marring his face, Cartman asked if Kyle wanted or needed anything else. Kyle had arched an eyebrow at this caring, hospitable Cartman, so eager to accommodate him -  _that_  he was going to have to get used to. He searched his drowsy mind for an answer, anything he could offer Cartman that was simple, and concrete. There were plenty of abstract things he wanted; security, and home, and the confirmation that they were finally safe, but knew Cartman couldn't so easily pull that out of his cupboard, or call someone up to make it happen, or drive them there. Instead, thoughtlessly and weighted with exhaustion, he replied that a bath would be nice.

Cartman complied, and Kyle was now sitting in a lukewarm bath, knees tucked under his chin. The water was tinged a faint, rusty red from dry blood, an undesirable reminder of the bruises spanning across his chest like mould. To think, the reason Kyle had bailed on his last ever job was to prove he wasn't totally corrupted, that whatever shameful, nefarious rot festering inside him wasn't malignant. The crazy thing was he knew his actions would warrant retribution, and yet it still didn't stop him. Once a martyr, he guessed, always a martyr.

But at least he wasn't the only person making ludicrous decisions tonight. Cartman had dealt his own betrayals, risked his life... for Kyle...  _again_. He choked whenever he thought of San Francisco, anxiety and astonishment pushing a lump into his throat. He clawed his mind for a glimpse of memory, a glimpse of Cartman in that hazy, electric storm but none would come. His brain only seemed interested in one particular, very fresh memory. Cartman's impassioned confession, his glowering stare, his hands, gaze, lips  _on him_. Kyle lifted his hand from the water, placed wet fingers on his chapped bottom lip and pressed to coax the bruising sensation of Cartman's mouth clasping so firmly with his own.

A knock jolted him out of his haze. The water rocked as he jumped at the sound.

"You okay in there?" Cartman asked.

"Yeah... " Kyle nodded, more shrill than he would've liked. Suddenly, he was very aware that he was naked, and lost in the thought of Cartman kissing him. Even when there was a door separating them, he cringed. "Yeah, I'm uh, just getting out..."

Kyle had no intention of getting out before. But still, he had to get out at some point, may as well be now. He gripped the sides of the bath and lifted himself up. He seethed and winced as his joints cracked, and sore, tender skin was pulled taut over his abdomen. It was an arduous task to lift his legs over the rim, and he stood and gathered his breaths, body dripping. He soon grabbed the bathrobe Cartman had provided him, slipping his underwear on, and cringing as he did so. His only change of clothes was all the way back in St Tropez. The white, fluffy bathrobe skimmed the floor, the sleeves pooling at his wrists, and leaving a long, v-shaped expanse of skin all the way down to his belly, but it was warm, and comfortable, and it smelled like fabric softener. It was better than the crumpled pile of clothes in the corner of the room, stained and sweaty.

He shuffled out of the bathroom and saw Cartman waiting for him, smiling tightly with his hands behind his back.

"Hey, uhh... I made a bed for you on the couch," he said, gesturing to the makeshift bed. Cushions were stacked up neatly and a spare duvet reached the floor.

"Thanks..." Kyle nodded.

The plump couch cushions bounced beneath him as he made himself comfortable.

"You can sleep in my bed, if you want-"

"This is fine," Kyle cut in with a small, grateful smile. "Thank you."

Cartman's tight smile grew wider. It crinkled his eyes, darkened by lack of sleep. Kyle was only just noticing how draining this night was for them both.

"No problem. So I guess... good night?"

Kyle nodded, as if he were releasing Cartman from his care-giving spell.

"Good night."

With a small nod of his own, Cartman wandered to his bedroom. He turned the light off in the living room, only leaving the grey, early morning peaking through the windows.

Kyle settled down, pulling the duvet up to his chin and snuggling into the pillows, but he doubted sleep would come so easily.


	6. Comfort Food

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short, filler chapter admittedly, but I hope you guys enjoy! Thank you so much for reading and I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Kyle woke up to daylight splintering through the curtains and the hot smell of something sizzling on a pan. He squinted, and with a few groggy huffs managed to sit up in his makeshift bed. His body complained as he did, aches still thrumming and bruises still throbbing. He attempted to stretch, but his joints refused to co-operate, creaking with displeasure. Pulling himself up and adjusting to the sunlight spread out before him, he realised he could now take a closer look at Cartman's apartment, and it was... nothing like he could have possibly imagined.

Truthfully, Kyle didn't have a lot of time - or the inclination - to consider what Cartman's living situation would be like as an adult. Kyle had rescued himself from drowning in the stormy, guilt-ridden sea of his past long ago, feet firmly in the present and staring out into the future. That all changed when Cartman walked into a warehouse in St Tropez only four days ago... Kyle could hardly believe such a short space of time had passed. Seeing Cartman again, a boy he had known all his life, had spent practically nearly every waking minute of his ridiculous, bizarre, terrifying childhood with, had reset the clock. Without permission, had made him just Kyle again. Vulnerable, infallible, accountable. It was an exhilarating feeling, to be partially purified, to return to his old self. But sobering too, when faced with how much had changed, how much  _he_  had changed.

He had imagined Cartman's Parisian apartment to be garish, flashy, impractical. A gaming room with a glowing wall of screens instead of a living room, a refrigerator stocked with KFC, and Taco Bell imported from the States instead of an actual kitchen. Or perhaps a Sooper Phun Thyme or Casa Bonita set in miniature, because when your pay cheque was obscene amounts of illegally acquired cash why not go big? Instead Cartman's apartment was all crushed velvet furniture, egg-and-dart mouldings, mahogany side tables, and views of Paris that stretched for miles. Of course there were the typical Cartman trappings, like an obnoxiously huge TV complete with Xbox, but on the whole Cartman's apartment was elegant, and sophisticated, and actually grown up.

"Good morning..."

Kyle jumped at the sound of Cartman's voice. He looked over his shoulder and saw Cartman smirking at him from the kitchen. Damn, he forgot this living area was open-plan.

"Well, good  _afternoon_..." Cartman corrected himself.

"Crap, what time is it?" Kyle asked, low and raspy. He sounded like he had smoked fifty a day from birth.

Cartman glanced at his phone, lying on the marble countertop.

"One pm?"

Kyle nodded, correcting his robe when he remembered he was just in his underwear under there.

"How long have you been awake?" he asked.

Cartman shrugged.

"An hour? I'm starving," he replied. "Care for an omelette?"

Kyle noticed the golden omelette bubbling and sizzling in the pan, and a pang immediately yawned in his stomach.

"Yeah, thank you..."

Bracing himself on the countertop, he carefully took a seat one of the tall barstools.

"Any preferences? We've got cheese, mushrooms, peppers-"

"Just some cheese would be great, thanks."

"You got it. I can make you a glass of O.J. too, if you'd like?"

Kyle nodded, smiling. This caring, attentive Cartman may have been jarring at first, but he was warming up to him more and more.

"Thank you..." Kyle murmured, when a glass of orange juice was slid his way.

He took a long sip, grateful for the cold liquid on his parched tongue, for the sweet tang when his whole body seemed to be screaming for some sugary fix. As he drank, he thought about what he needed to say next. They could talk about omelettes, and orange juice, and Kyle could let Cartman look after him all day but that didn't make last night disappear, vanquish the threat of pissed off criminals potentially hunting them down... it didn't erase that charged, bloody, stinging kiss. Kyle couldn't forget it even if he wanted to.

"So... uh... how are you feeling today?" Cartman asked, a crease in his brow like he was dreading the answer.

"I... I don't know." Kyle sighed. "I'm still stiff, and aching, but I'm not hurting as much anymore..."

"And, like..." Cartman tapped his temple. "Up here?"

Kyle took an even bigger breath, even if it snagged on the residual ache of yesterday's beating.

"Not so good," he replied, it didn't take long for his mind to drift back to the previous night. "Everything just happened so fast..."

"I get it. Once they feel somebody has broken their trust they work pretty quickly to, uh, 'get rid of the problem'."

Kyle blinked, fear rising up inside him as something he would rather not contemplate dawned on him.

"You've seen them do this to other people?"

_And worse?_

Cartman frowned, small and tight, as though attempting to sew his mouth shut lest he reveal any secrets... or pick apart old wounds.

"Yeah..." he nodded, not looking at Kyle. He slipped a spatula beneath the omelette and flipped it.

"But you've never..."

Kyle pleaded with his eyes that Cartman would confirm what he was praying for was true. He knew Cartman was as far from being a saint as anyone could possibly be, but he didn't know if he could move past it if the guy who had saved him, and gave him a temporary roof over his head had killed people who had been as vulnerable as him.

Cartman lifted his head, and shook it with a tiny, rueful smile.

"No. It's like I said last night, I'm not the muscles..."

Kyle nodded, glad for his answer.

"So what happens now?"

"We lay low," Cartman replied, serious and urgent. "This isn't over yet, Folke isn't the type to forgive and forget. We just need to keep our eyes peeled-"

"I can track them. If I can get my hands on a laptop, or a tablet, I can keep an eye on them-"

"You need to recuperate for now, Kyle," Cartman cut in, with a hint of condescension that Kyle didn't exactly appreciate. "Give Glitch a vacation."

Kyle snickered, shaking his head and rubbing his tired eyes.

"It's crazy to think I was gonna retire last night..."

Cartman chuckled in agreement, quiet. His gaze was on the counter separating them.

"It's crazy to think I'd never kiss you, but you know..."

Kyle's smile faded, eyes drawing to Cartman. Like the kiss itself, the mere mention of it landed in the conversation, sudden, and unexpected, and heavy.

"Sorry." Cartman frowned, cleared his throat. "I thought I'd make a joke about it."

"It's okay..." Kyle murmured.

"No, but I am sorry, Kyle," Cartman added, voice strong but wavering. His tone demanded Kyle look at him. "I don't know what I was thinking... I was just exhausted, and angry-"

" _And_  I was pointing a knife at you," Kyle interrupted with a smirk. He could attempt to light the mood too. "It was a pretty pressurised situation."

Relief glowed, warm in Kyle's chest, when Cartman snickered, ducking his head.

"Would it be better if you didn't know?" he asked, serious and looking at Kyle now. "About San Francisco? About... how I feel?"

Kyle swallowed, pursing his lips for a second as he deliberated his answer. The overwhelming, indignant shock was starting to wane, and his incredulity that this had all been kept a secret was beginning to mellow. In its place was a burgeoning acceptance, and appreciation, and... perspective. They had bigger things to worry about now, and how could Kyle ever be possibly affronted by Cartman saving his life? In fact, it even vindicated some once naive childhood dream that Cartman would prove himself to be more than his reputation, his bravado, and selfishness. When so many people, the world, had let Kyle down as a child, it was heartening to know that the least likely person in the world hadn't.

"No... no, I actually think it's better that I do know," Kyle replied with a smile. "We could both use a little more honesty in our lives, right?"

Cartman brightened, topaz eyes twinkling.

"Exactly! Especially now. It's gonna be the two of us for a while, and it's only gonna work if we trust each other. So no more awkwardness and no more secrets. Deal?"

Kyle nodded, smile growing wider.

"Deal..." He fiddled with the over-sized sleeve of his robe. "And while we're on the subject of honesty..."

Cartman looked up from the plate of omelettes he was serving up.

"You should know that, um, I still took all the security cameras offline," Kyle rushed through the last few words, closing his eyes to get through the sentence. "In the Bisset mansion."

Cartman blinked, the first time in a long time Kyle had seen him lost for words.

"You did?" he asked. "Why?"

Kyle rolled his eyes.

"I don't know. For old time's sake?" he sighed. "Because even though I didn't want you to steal the necklace, that doesn't mean I wanted you to get caught. You're still my friend, Cartman."

Cartman nodded, a smile spreading across his face.

"Wow... well, I guess..." he looked into Kyle's eyes. "Thank you."

Kyle lowered his gaze, the bathrobe suddenly becoming stuffy under the intensity of Cartman's grateful stare.

"You're welcome..."

"Here..." Cartman said, serving Kyle his omelette. "Bon appetit!"

* * *

Never did Eric think he would spend a day sat on his couch with Kyle, watching movies, complete with Kyle actually wearing one of his old college hoodies and a pair of his designer sweats. Sure, Kyle was a bit more subdued than usual, frayed, and scarred, but he was still captivating enough to draw Eric's eye over and over, even after every stern reminder to himself to stop gawking, to stop fantasising because they were just friends, and this blissful domestic scene was only surface. It concealed a reality far more dangerous and frightening.

They had eaten breakfast (well,  _brunch_ ) and washed Kyle's clothes, and since they were both still shaken and depleted from last night's chaos they chose to entertain themselves with movies rather than venturing into the city. Too risky, for now. Eric had even introduced Kyle to a couple of boxsets he'd been meaning to catch up on. Even if Kyle tried to hide it, Eric could tell he was still slightly wary in his presence, paranoid and incapacitated. How could he not tell? He was used to peering into someone's subconscious, and exploiting it. It was a nice change of pace, to use that insight to comfort Kyle instead of disarm him. But Kyle's hesitation, his unsure gazes, the tiny creases in his brows were slowly being replaced by small, warm smiles, and a gentle confidence and belief in Eric was being honed. It reassured him he was doing a good job, that he was capable of inspiring more than just charm, of manufacturing deceit.

Too lazy to cook, and not wanting to be away from the couch for an extended period of time, Eric had ordered pizza for them both. He had just finished paying the delivery guy, keeping an eye out for any unwanted visitors in the hallway.

"One Parisian pizza coming up!" he announced, one hand tucked behind his back and one hand holding the pizza high in the air as he glided over to the couch.

"A Parisian pizza?" Kyle asked.

"Yep, with extra frogs legs and escargot on top!"

"What?!" Kyle exclaimed, eyebrows almost lifting off from his forehead.

Eric chuckled, holding the pizza box with both hands before it went crashing to the floor.

"I'm just kidding, dumbass. It's pepperoni." He shook his head and tutted. "Seriously, Kyle... shame on you for so readily accepting French stereotypes-"

"Shut up and give me the pizza," Kyle cut in, smiling too much for the command to have any weight.

Eric grinned, placing the pizza on the coffee table in front of them. He flopped down beside Kyle as he lifted the lid, the mozzarella-tomato aroma making his mouth water. They chose a slice each, and so began another calm, gentle dip in conversation where Eric wondered if this was the ideal time to ask the question he'd been wanting to ask all day. Hell, since he was locked out of the vault at the Bisset mansion.

"Aren't you gonna start the movie?" Kyle asked, glancing at the next action movie lined up in Eric's Netflix queue.

"Yeah, I just... there's something I wanna ask you first..."

Kyle nodded slowly, avoiding Eric's gaze as if he was already searching for an answer to the unspoken question.

"Okay..."

"I, uhh... it's just, I've been wondering..."

_Why being around you makes me blather like a moron?_

"Why did you bail?" Eric asked, getting the words out like they were something foul-tasting he didn't want in his mouth anymore.

Kyle lowered the slice of pizza from his lips, like he had lost his appetite.

"I mean, you were gonna get out anyway, why blow one last heist?" Eric asked, hoping to clarify himself, when Kyle seemed to have no answers for him.

He sighed.

"Because maybe I realised I couldn't live with one  _more_  heist. It was the first time in years I ever hesitated during a job, and that must mean something, right?"

"I guess-"

"Before I was pragmatic, numb, I'd trained myself to be unfeeling about it all. I convinced myself I was just screwing over bad, corrupt people but..." Kyle shook his head, closed his eyes. "I don't know, even if it was one last time, knowing I could ruin a good cause, and I was stealing from honest, innocent people -  _kids, even_  - there was just no way I could go through with it. I... I just wanted to feel like a good person again, and in the moment it seemed like the right thing to do."

Eric nodded.

"Maybe I should have expected it. It is like you, after all..."

"What is?"

"Screwing me over," Eric replied with a smirk.

Kyle rolled his eyes, took another bite out of the pizza slice.

"No, I mean... doing the right thing," Eric added, soft and sincere. "No matter how stupid the decision is, or how much it puts you in danger. You can't help yourself but do what you think is right."

Kyle's eyebrows quirked upwards. His mouth was full of pizza. Eric watched him swallow it, before asking with a shy smile; "is that a compliment?"

Eric shrugged, because he truly was unsure.

"An observation," he decided.

They chuckled quietly to themselves, taking bites out of their pizza where conversation should have been.

"Umm... Cartman?"

"Yeah?" Eric asked, wiping his mouth.

"I... I just wanted to thank you," Kyle said, looking into his eyes. "For everything you've done. I really appreciate it."

Eric nodded, gulping down some pizza that had somehow got lodged in his throat.

_How the hell did that get there?_

"You're welcome," he replied, palms sweaty and butterflies coming to life in his stomach.


	7. Retail Therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry for the delay in posting this, but I've been focusing on kymanweek for a little while. It was a lot of fun, but I'm glad to be getting back to this story! Also, I've noticed that during my absence a lot of people have left kudos, which was a lovely surprise considering no new chapters have been added. So thank you to everyone whose added kudos so far, and welcome to any new readers! I hope all you guys enjoy and I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thank you for reading!

It had been a week of movies, and take-out, and boxsets, and dinner on laps, a strange kind of domesticity when danger could befall Eric and Kyle any minute. There had been no unwanted visitors, no ominous messages, or any sign at all that Folke was near, that he was about to strike, except silence stretching out into eternity and the days rolling into each other. Eric felt as paranoid as a zoo animal, pacing his lavish enclosure, and though Kyle was still shaken, still recovering, this self-imposed quarantine must've been getting to him too.

Kyle may have so desperately wanted the simple life that he would put himself in harm's way to achieve it, but Eric was growing antsy without the next job to prepare for, the next adventure to be had. Even if time with Kyle was exhilarating in its own unique way, in his fantasies of being with Kyle they were never doing just this... stagnating on the couch, letting the days fall beneath their feet. Although maybe it was best not to get too hung up on fantasies of Kyle.

Another episode of the boxset they were watching had finished, and a small timer on the screen counted down to the next.

"Do you wanna watch another one?"

Kyle sighed, buried under one of Eric's hoodies and some cushions he had fashioned into a miniature fort.

"I guess..."

Eric didn't respond, just let the clock run down although he had lost interest in whatever the hell they started watching a few hours ago... or was it yesterday? Jesus, maybe this was Folke's master plan, to torture them with waiting.

"Have you been thinking about them at all?"

"Who?"

Eric scoffed.

"Come on, you know who! It's been a week and there's been no sign of Folke-"

"I don't want to talk about them," Kyle cut him off, voice dark. He folded his arms across his chest and sunk into the couch.

Eric frowned, as if refusing to talk about them would make the threat go away, as if they could possibly talk about anything else when they had been holed up there for days.

"What else can we fucking talk about?"

Kyle scowled, shaking his head. He returned his attention to the TV.

With a sigh, Eric threw his head back. It thumped against the back cushion of the couch.

"We need to get out of here, man..."

His eyes wandered to Kyle when he felt him sit up. One of the cushions fell to the floor.

"What, why?" he asked, eyes shining with alarm. "Do you think we're not safe?"

"No, we're fine..." Eric rolled his eyes. "I mean,  _for now_ , but... aren't you sick of being stuck in here?" he asked, voice raising with frustration. "We need to go outside! We're in Paris, for fuck's sake! What are we doing?"

"Hiding," Kyle replied, voice hard and serious. "So we don't get killed."

Eric huffed, leaning forward with his hands clasped tightly together.

"Oh come on, Kyle, I know you're getting bored too! It could be good for you!"

"How? How is going out remotely worth the risk?"

A smile quirked in the corner of Eric's mouth as he eyed Kyle up and down.

"Well, we could get you a change of clothes, for one thing. As adorable as you look in my sweats you can't stay in them forever..."

Kyle opened his mouth to protest, but knew he couldn't argue that point.

"I don't wanna draw any attention to myself, Cartman," he replied. "I mean, look at me!"

With that Kyle pointed to his (temporarily) marred face. Even now there was a yellowing bruise on his jaw, a small but nasty abrasion on his forehead, and his right eye was still a little swollen, protruding a grey-ish pink. An improvement, now that Eric could look at Kyle without wincing at the extent of his injuries, but not full recovery. Still, he peered at Kyle's face as if he was trying to find a near invisible blemish.

"Nothing that a little make-up won't solve..."

A small dent appeared in Kyle's brow.

"Make-up?"

"Yeah? Eric shrugged. "I use it all the time for cons..."

"Really?"

"Sure!" Eric huffed in mock-offence, and smiled. "Guys wear make-up now too, Kyle. Get over it."

Kyle chuckled, short and stifled. He pressed his lips together tightly lest that involuntary noise of amusement escape again.

"Think of it this way, it's way less suspicious than walking around with a hoodie pulled up over your head and big, fuck-off sunglasses... or maybe keep the sunglasses, we are in France, after all..."

"But what if Folke is out there?" Kyle asked, and Eric could see him practically shrinking into his hoodie. "What if he sees us?"

Eric wished he had an answer, wished he had a plan at the ready for if they were to spot Folke in a store, in a crowded street, or lurking in an alley. He wished he had some certainty to assuage Kyle's fears, but he didn't. He just had hope. A selfish, admittedly fickle hope to have a pleasant, undisturbed afternoon outside with Kyle, but it was hope nonetheless.

"It.." Eric found himself nodding, struggling to finish his sentence when lies came so easily to him. Logically, half-truths had to be more so, right? "It'll be okay."

"How do you know?" Kyle asked, the dent in his brow deepening and he actually leaned in closer to Eric.

"I... " Eric sighed, his shoulders drooping. "I don't. You just have to trust me."

He knew it was a big ask, after everything he had done - good and bad - after all these years, after every disappointment, and betrayal, for Kyle to put that aside and put even an ounce of his faith in Eric. Suddenly, since the first long, restless, bloody night they got here, Eric was terrified. His palms prickling with sweat, his heart pounding in his ears, as he waited for Kyle to decide. He never knew it would be such a crucial proposition. Because if he couldn't ever trust him, how were they going to get through this?

"And it wouldn't be obvious, would it?" Kyle asked. "The make up?"

Eric blinked, not expecting that at all. He gulped, but his mouth still felt as dry as a desert.

"Wait, is that a yes?"

Kyle nodded, eyes closed.

"A very reluctant yes," he pointed out, eyes opening now.

"I'll take it!" Eric grinned, buoyed by enthusiasm. "Come on!"

* * *

Eric set Kyle down on a chair in the dining table as he collected his kit; a light-up triptych vanity mirror, and a towering box of all his make-up essentials. He turned his chair to face Kyle directly, lifting the lid of the box to reveal foundations, and eyeshadows, and lipsticks in every shade possible - his own personal beauty counter. He pulled a tiny lever on the side of the box, and two hidden compartments unfolded like wings. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Kyle's Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"Relax, Kyle, this isn't all for you..." he said with a smirk.

Kyle didn't look convinced.

"Subtle, remember?"

"Of course, subtle!" Eric replied. "Oh, wait!"

Pulling open another compartment, Eric retrieved a baby pink headband.

"Put this on..."

"Why?" Kyle asked, plucking it from Eric's fingers.

Eric grinned.

"To get that ginger mop out of your eyes."

Kyle huffed, but slipped the band over his head and carefully pulled it back over his face. Fluffy, scarlet bangs pushed back from his forehead, Kyle's face - Eric's canvas - was revealed. Eric reached for a small tub of moisturiser, squeezing a small drop into his hand.

"Okay, just close your eyes..."

Kyle complied, and Eric wasn't prepared for cinnamon lashes to fall as gently as autumn leaves on Kyle's lower lids, the twin crescent moons of his closed eyes and the delicate arch of his brow bone. He swallowed, suddenly warm, and shifted forward so their knees were almost touching.

The moisturiser melted into Kyle's soft skin, leaving an almost luminescent gleam on his pale complexion as it settled into his pores. Trying to be mindful of his tender, flaring injuries, Eric was tentative with his application, fingers running over Kyle's forehead like it could smooth out all of his worried creases, gently pressing into soft, pliable cheeks. He bit back a snicker as his fingers followed the line of Kyle's nose from bridge to tip, and hesitated when his fingers fell to Kyle's chin. Hot, hesitant breath ghosting his fingertips sent him back to last week, to that stinging, numbing kiss, and even though Eric had stated his apologies, his fingers centimetres away from Kyle's lips awakened a craving for the one place he wanted to touch over and over again.

He cleared his throat, hand moving to Kyle's jaw and retracting his fingers when Kyle winced.

"Shit!" he hissed.

"Sorry..." Eric murmured, cheeks burning. "You alright?"

Kyle cracked his eye open.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine..." he replied, sighing and closing his eyes again. "Just not so hard..."

Eric nodded, not caring that Kyle couldn't see him. He finished applying the moisturiser, and moved on to the foundation. He chose a shade from the lighter end of the spectrum, an ivory colour.

"You're lucky I even have a shade this pale..."

"I'm not a freakin' vampire, dude..." Kyle replied, eyebrows lifting with exasperation.

"I don't know, you made a pretty convincing one in third grade..."

They both chuckled, though Kyle pursed his lips when the brush met his face and Eric swept it gently over his face. The faint freckles on Kyle's nose practically disappeared under the foundation, and Eric couldn't help but feel a little disappointed by their temporary absence.

"Okay, I'm gonna have to put some concealer on your bruises," Eric said, reaching for a concealer in the same ivory shade. "It may be a little sore, so tell me if it hurts, alright?"

Kyle nodded, and Eric was more delicate than ever as he blended the concealer into Kyle's angry cuts and bruises, stubborn enough to have not gone away just yet.

"How's that feel?" he asked.

"Nice... kinda?" Kyle replied, laughter bubbling in his voice. "Weird... I don't know how to describe it..."

Eric understood, never did he ever think he would touch Kyle in this way, intimate and platonic, and able to silently admire his handsome features - his nose, shape of his mouth, jawline, eyes - up close. And yet, here he was, touching Kyle up as if he were a marble sculpture of his creation, fixing his blemishes even if he couldn't heal them,  _helping his friend_. After all these years separated, despite everything they had been through, Eric was amazed and grateful he could even call Kyle that. No way was he going to mess that up. He couldn't let Folke, or carelessness, or unrequited feelings ruin this.

Before he could stop himself, he was picking out a blush in a modest, peach shade. He swiped it across Kyle's cheekbone.

"Woah, wait, what the hell is that?" Kyle exclaimed, nose scrunching up.

"It's just blush, dumbass!" Eric replied, laughing. "To put some colour in your cheeks..."

"Oh..." Kyle nodded, and without another word let Eric apply the blush to his other cheek.

"There!" he announced. "All done. Wanna take a look?"

Kyle nodded, he opened his eyes and Eric turned the glowing mirror towards him. He blinked, the reflected light of the mirror illuminating the surprise in his eyes. His lips parted, and he leaned in closer, turning his head to study every angle.

"Well?" Eric asked, scooching a little closer. "What do you think?"

Kyle nodded.

"Yeah... it's great..." he laughed softly to himself, a smile spreading across his face. "I look... great! You can't even tell I have anything on!"

Eric tutted, as if he was annoyed Kyle was expecting anything less.

"I told you I was gonna be subtle, Kyle! Although I was  _this_  close to reaching for the eyeliner, and my contouring kit... not that you need it with your bone structure."

Kyle turned his attention away from the mirror then, and Eric really wished he would stop staring because then that would mean they could pretend he had  _not_  just said that.

"Oh... thanks, um..."

A blush of a different kind crawled up Kyle's throat, and he lifted his hand to his face to disguise the colour rising on his cheeks.

"Hey!" Eric said, batting Kyle's hand away. "You'll smudge it!"

Kyle smiled, and placed his hand in his lap.

"Sorry.."

Eric shrugged, more than willing to put those stuffy, embarrassing moments behind them.

"It's cool," he replied. "Now, let's get you a new wardrobe!"

* * *

Laden with shopping bags and without one glimpse of a familiar, threatening face, Eric had deemed the afternoon a successful one so far. The clothes Kyle purchased for himself were not to Eric's taste exactly, nor bought from his usual high-end haunts. Moderately priced and practical was what Kyle was in the market for, though he welcomed Eric's suggestions that he didn't really need another khaki t-shirt as much as he wrinkled his nose at anything Eric selected that was remotely flamboyant or 'garish.'

Ever since Eric could afford to splash out on clothes, shopping had been fun. But never did he feel as contented as this. Perhaps because buying a new outfit was as much a part of preparing for a job as forging documents, crafting his character, or researching his marks. And yeah, there was always that thrill when he discovered the one perfect outfit that pulled a whole persona together, and of course when he did well on a job and his payout reflected just how much effort he had put in, treating himself to a new pair of shoes, or a watch, or a pair of sunglasses was always gratifying, but it was short-fixed dopamine hit. He enjoyed his own company, managed being alone perfectly fine. But there were so many things that were more enjoyable when did with another person, and it turned out shopping was one of them.

Of course, Folke was always in his peripheral vision, and even when he and Kyle were flicking through racks together, disagreeing on taste, and bickering and laughing more than they had done in the last few days of confinement they couldn't help but glance over their shoulders, study their fellow shoppers a little more closely, never stray too far away from each other. It was almost like being on a job, and Eric was playing the role of just another twenty-something, spending an afternoon with his friend. He wondered how convincing it was to those around him, when even he had to remind himself that everything wasn't as it appeared. What was it all for? Perhaps it was for Kyle, who was smiling more, and letting his shoulders fall, and actually looking anything other than tense.

Eric dared to wonder whether he was slowly perfecting the art of being somebody's friend. It was an unusual role for him to play, even when he had always considered Kyle to be his friend despite not doing a lot to earn the title. Because even when they had spent their childhoods playing, and pretending, running breathless around their hometown, Eric still tricked Kyle, and hurt him, and left him high and dry like he was just another mark to con. An entertaining playmate, an undeniable ally in all the crazy shit they got tangled up in, but not a trusted confidante. Yet Kyle never faltered, for all his anger, and threats, Kyle never walked away. Even when they were teenagers, and Eric kept Kyle at bay with indifference, and spiteful remarks lest he discover his overwhelming, terrifying feelings for him, it never deterred Kyle from simply being there. Unmoving, and unchanging. And despite their whole worlds changing, they had still collided. Unfortunate and accidental yes, but they had still wound up together, them against the world once more, and Eric wanted to make the most of it. After all this time, he was actively striving to be Kyle's friend and enjoying every second of it.

Still, Kyle was growing bored of wandering around stores now, and tired, and hungry. Eric couldn't deny that a cup of coffee with a slice of something sugary sounded real good. They decided to head to the nearest cafe, but an attractively lit and extravagant display caught his eye. He stopped, wandering away from Kyle's side for the first time today to press his hands to the window of the Hugo Boss store. The handles of the shopping bags he was carrying slid down his arms and dug into his skin but he didn't care.

"What-what are you doing?" Kyle asked, the concern melting from his voice when he realised Eric was just ogling the expensive clothes on display. He laughed. "You look like you wanna press your nose against the glass-"

"I'm about to!"

"I don't think those salespeople in there would appreciate that," Kyle pointed out.

With that, Eric glanced at some tall, slim sales assistants dressed all in black and regarding him with narrowed eyes.

_Let's see how fucking judgey they are when they realise how much is in my wallet._

Eric turned away from the window then, hiding his wicked smirk from them.

"Let's go in!"

Kyle's face crumpled a little with weariness, and he shook his head.

"It's okay, I've already bought enough clothes..."

"Yeah, well, there's clothes and then there's  _clothes_ , Kyle!"

"I think you're confusing  _clothes_  with being a snob," Kyle replied, arching an eyebrow.

"Oh, whatever, there's a reason they cost a fortune! Come on, Kyle, you have enough money!" Eric argued, on the verge of pouting. "And looking is free!"

Kyle's shoulders drooped, and he looked between Eric's puppy dog eyes and the store window.

"Fine," he said with a huff. "But I'm really just looking, okay?"

Eric smiled, listening to Kyle's promise but not taking it at all seriously.

"Sure..." he replied, before grabbing Kyle's wrist and dragging him inside.

His grip slackened on Kyle's wrist when they entered, and Kyle slid out of Eric's lax hold completely as he studied the luxurious clothes on display.

"Bonjour, messieurs," a friendlier salesperson greeted them.

"Bonjour!"

"We're just looking..." The words rushed out of Kyle's mouth, and Eric rolled his eyes, as the salesperson nodded and stepped away.

The store was small, so Eric wasn't afraid to wander off from Kyle, flicking through buttery leather jackets, and polo shirts in crisp pastels, and considering picking something out for himself. He was soon drawn to the tall mannequins on plinths, and his mouth dropped open when he noticed one mannequin wearing a gorgeous, midnight blue suit with a peerless white shirt underneath.

He imagined Kyle wearing it, how it would bring out the blue tones in his verdant eyes, how the brilliant tailoring would accentuate and create perfect lines for his lean frame. The image was alluring enough to make Eric's heart race, his insides melt into a warm puddle when the imaginary Kyle smiled at him, suave as all hell. And even if he was trying not to get too caught up in fantasies of Kyle, surely bringing this one into reality was harmless, right?

"Kyle!"

Eric saw him perusing a pile of cashmere sweaters, and there was a distinct dent in his brow when he looked up. Eric's voice was ringing in the small, quiet space.

"What?" Kyle whispered, voice hushed and yet taut as he made his way over to him.

"Will you look at that suit?!"

"Yeah..." Kyle nodded, a small smile on his face as he studied it. "It's nice..."

"Nice?" Eric balked. He didn't think Kyle was that sartorially challenged. "It's amazing! You have to try it on!"

The dent in Kyle's brow deepened, and he ripped his gaze away from the suit to stare at Eric.

"What, why?"

"To see what it looks like!"

_More like_ so I _can see what it looks like._

Because apparently Eric couldn't have a crush like a normal human being. The fantasy wasn't enough, he had to have at least a glimpse of the real thing when he was under no illusion that would be all he'd ever get.

"But when am I gonna need a suit?"

Eric huffed, threw his hands up in the air.

"I don't know! For parties-"

"I haven't been to a party in years..." Kyle's gaze wandered the floor. "One I was invited to at least..."

Before Eric could plead any more, the friendly sales assistant approached them with a small grin and his hands clasped together.

"Puis-je vous aider?"

Eric grinned, and was reminded once again of the terrific usefulness of being multilingual.

"Oui, mon ami voudrait essayer ce costume?"

The sales assistant nodded, directing their best customer service smile at Kyle with sparkling eyes.

"Bien, sur!"

Without another word, Eric clutched Kyle's arm and began leading him in the direction of the changing room.

"Wait, what's happening?" he asked, struggling to keep up with Eric and the sales assistant's enthusiastic pace.

"You're trying the suit on!"

"What?!" Kyle exclaimed, eyes flying wide open. "Cartman, what the hell?!"

Before he could protest further, he was shoved behind a black curtain.

* * *

Eric was perched on a small leather stool, waiting for Kyle with his cheek resting in his palm. It had been about ten minutes since the sales assistant handed Kyle the suit for him to try on, his head peaking out of the curtain with a polite smile that quickly shrank into a scowl at his meddlesome friend.

"You okay in there?"

Kyle responded with a grumble.

"I can't believe you're making me do this, Cartman..."

"Hey, you're the one putting the suit on..." he pointed out.

"Yeah, but you're the one who pushed me into the changing room!"

"Technically, the sales assistant did that..."

"You're such a fucking smartass..." Kyle replied, but not even the partition could hide the smile in his voice.

Eric chuckled, he wanted to make Kyle smile and laugh more than he wanted to see him in glamorous outfits, and the self-indulgence he was so used to revelling in when he felt particularly bored and alone seemed a little unnecessary with Kyle around. In fact, a little part of him was embarrassed that he had wanted so badly to see Kyle in the suit in the first place.

"Seriously though, are you ready?"

"Yeah, just give me a sec!"

With that Kyle pulled the curtain back, and even though he looked a little rushed and pinked with irritation, Eric was the one who felt all hot and bothered. He raked his gaze over compact shoulders, crisp tailoring, and was immediately brought back to Kyle's eyes. He was right about the complimentary shade, illuminating the blue in his eyes and rendering him a cerulean masterpiece.

"Well?" Kyle asked, short and impatient. "How does it look?"

_Gorgeous?_

Eric jolted at the word, electric and eager. He instead nodded, his jaw tightening to prevent the escape of any other embarrassing, fervent words, or swooning whimpers.

Kyle was still waiting, however, with an odd expression of amusement and perplexity that made him look even cuter.

_Say something, asshole!_

He cleared his throat, and suddenly the bright, alcove lights above him were searing.

"Yeah, good, um..."

Eric was saved by the sales assistant waltzing in.

"Comment allez vous-" he gasped. "Ca te va bien! Tres beau!"

Kyle smiled and nodded good-naturedly, but looked to Eric.

"What was that?"

It was then Eric was reminded of one of the few drawbacks of being multilingual. He turned to the sales assistant first.

"Son Francais n'est pas tres bon..." he said apologetically.

The sales assistant nodded, and Eric returned to Kyle. Catching sight of him in that suit just as exhilarating the second time around.

"He, uh, said it fits you well," Eric replied, his mouth growing dry and his throat closing around his words. "You, look, uh... handsome..."

Kyle blinked, a smile flickering on his face. He smoothed down his jacket and pulled at the hem a little, as if in disbelief.

"I... I do?"

Eric's whole body flared now, this degree of embarrassment was something he hadn't felt in a long time when he was always pretending to be someone else, when he always had the upper hand and the right thing to say.

"Well, yeah, I... take a look for yourself!" he replied, gesturing to the long mirror at the end of the room.

Kyle soon found his reflection in the mirror, lips parting in surprise as he studied himself in the handsome suit. He rolled up the sleeves to reveal slim, alabaster wrists and smoothed down his lapels.

"Wow," he whispered, before pursing his lips as if the word had left his mouth involuntarily. "Um..."

"Do you like it?" Eric asked, simmering and smiling.

Kyle nodded, smile widening to reveal his teeth.

"Yeah, it's great, I..." he turned to the sales assistant. "I'll take it..." he then nodded at Eric to make sure he was understood. "I'll take it!"

Eric beamed.

"Nous allons le prendre..."

"Excellent!" the sales assistant replied, before leaving the changing room.

Alone now, they exchanged warm, tight-lipped smiles, chins gravitating towards the floor. Eric had no idea where to look, though knew exactly where he wanted to. Kyle was so fucking magnetic, Eric was powerless to stop his gaze drawing to him. Evidently, Eric wasn't the only one affected, even Kyle couldn't stop gazing at his reflection.

"Jesus, should I leave you and the mirror alone?" he teased.

Kyle blinked, snapping out of his daydream, and rolling his eyes.

"Like you're one to talk!" he laughed.

He glanced at the mirror one more time, fiddling with one of the buttons on his shirt.

"Fine," he said with a sigh. "I'll get changed..."

Kyle disappeared behind the curtain once more, this time with a smirk rather than a scowl. Eric actually missed it when it was gone, breathless and alone, with his heart sprinting in his chest.


	8. Innermost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Putting a warning here for some violent, upsetting scenes amongst all this fluff. Please tread carefully. I hope you guys enjoy regardless, and thank you so much for reading! I'd love to know your thoughts!

Returning to his apartment after their shopping trip, a feeling of unease helplessly leapt into Eric's throat, pushing itself to the front of his mind. It was familiar in its intensity, in how it settled in his shoulders like an eagle's talons, rendering them stiff and guarded, in how it had him scanning the living room like this was the first time he was setting foot in there. The worst kind of déjà vu, since it had only been a week since he had brought Kyle here, running only on an adrenaline that hadn't seemed to deplete despite a near two hour car journey to the airport, and nearly another two hours up in the air. He felt it residually in his veins as he once again found himself searching for evidence of a break-in, or an unwanted shadow. But all he could see was the honeyed glow of the curtains as the sun melted over the city, and Kyle laden with shopping bags, looking unfairly gorgeous in his new clothes, and smiling.

A discreet, content sigh slipped through Eric's lips before he could stop it.

"Crap, where am I gonna put all this?" Kyle asked, looking around the living room/temporary bedroom.

Eric shrugged.

"Put it in my room."

Kyle arched an eyebrow at him.

"Are you sure?"

"Well, there's plenty of space," Eric replied, heading to his bedroom before Kyle could voice more reservations. "I have a walk-in closet."

Kyle chuckled.

"Of course you do..."

Eric threw open the double doors to his bedroom, gaze immediately drawn to his California king bed. The shopping bags he held were almost rustling in excitable conspiracy.

"Holy shit, this is perfect!"

"Huh?" Kyle asked behind him. "What's perfect?"

"This!" Eric declared, before flopping down on his bed.

His arms were spread like he was about to attempt a snow angel in the silky, champagne sheets. The mattress bounced beneath him, and the rustling of the shiny card bags and petal-thin tissues within were just as contented as the huge sigh escaping his lungs.

Cracking an eye open, he craned his neck to see Kyle shaking his head at him, laughter bubbling at his pursed lips.

"What the hell was that?"

"Come on, you've never seen people do that in the movies?"

Kyle shook his head, body still thrumming with laughter.

"No, never..."

Eric sat up, resting on his hands.

"Wanna try it?"

"I think I've taken enough suggestions from you today," Kyle replied. "First, the make-up, then the suit-"

"Well, if you try this too that'll make it three out of three! Come on, I haven't let you down yet, have I?"

He lifted himself up off his bed, leaving a creased, alluring indention in the sheets just waiting to be filled. Kyle rolled his eyes, before dropping on to the mattress, heavy and arthritic, eyes open and staring at the ceiling as if he were waiting for a satisfying sigh to rush into his lungs and pour out of his mouth.

Instead, his body was wracked with more laughter. His shoulders shook as chuckles helplessly tumbled from his mouth, his eyes crinkled and sparkling. It was indeed more catching, as Eric started to laugh too. Kyle moved his bags beside him and shifted over when Eric joined him on the bed. Their eyes wandered to the ceiling.

"How did that feel?" Eric asked, head lolling to the side.

Kyle turned his head too, and they were close enough that Eric could see the faint watercolour abrasions beneath the make-up, close enough that he could smell the strawberry croissant from the cafe on Kyle's breath. The sun may have been setting, but Kyle was bright enough to be a worthy substitute.

"Okay, I guess? Maybe I'll appreciate it more once I'm a seasoned shopper."

Eric's mouth quirked into a delighted smile.

"Damn, have I actually converted you to a shopaholic?"

"No!" Kyle laughed. "But maybe you've given me an appreciation for the finer things," he considered. "I mean... I know I made a lot of money doing what I did but I never splashed out on anything fancy... except my equipment..."

"Jesus, you think I'm bad? You were practically drooling over the laptops at that electronics store. "

Kyle flushed, smile crinkled with embarrassment and he averted his gaze.

"Once a computer geek, always a computer geek, I guess..."

"Yeah..." Eric said, reaching for the Hugo Boss bag. He pulled out one of the cashmere sweaters Kyle had been looking at, tucked beneath the suit. He grinned. "Old habits die hard."

Kyle's eyes widened, and surprise cracked his mellow expression. He snatched the sweater from Eric's hands, unfolding it like he had to make sure it was real.

"What..." he gasped. "When did you get this?"

Eric was still beaming, triumphant.

"While you were paying for the suit."

"But I didn't... how did you..." he lowered his arms, the sweater dropping on to his lap. "Cartman, you really shouldn't have..."

"So?" he shrugged, trying to be cool. "I do lots of things I shouldn't do. Doesn't stop me from doing them."

Burning under the intensity of Kyle's disbelief and gratitude, a part of him was embarrassed he stole the sweater, not the first time that had happened today. His feelings for Kyle had for so long existed in blurry memories, and fantasies played to death. Now that Kyle was here, in front of him again, taking up not just his thoughts, but every part of his time and space, the line between rationality and affection was becoming muddled.

He was one of the slickest, dangerous grifters in the world, and yet it took just one guy to cloud his judgement, melt his mind into a puddle, and extract this side of him that was easily flustered, and easily swayed? But Eric knew exactly what gave. The extraordinary circumstances of their reunion proved it. Kyle wasn't just 'some' guy. He was antidote, and kryptonite, and even if Kyle had the power to dismantle who Eric had become - was destined to become - he was starting to believe that Kyle could be the foundation to somebody who he never thought he could be.

"Well..." Kyle tried to make himself comfortable on the bed again. "Thanks." He smiled. "How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing..."

Kyle shot him a knowing look.

"Oh come on, you've never been this generous..."

"No, really, you owe me nothing," Eric insisted. "I didn't pay for it."

Kyle blinked, before shaking his head and his smile stretched into an exasperated grin. It was endearing enough to coax Eric's embarrassment to simmer, and he snickered under his breath. Soon enough their eyes were drawn to each other once again, searching for conversation, patient and leisurely like they had all the time in the world, like they were happy to wait. Impatient and demanding himself, Eric wasn't used to such patience, especially in his line of work. Even the longest cons had a ticking clock, and fraudulent connections were the cheapest to form and the easiest to break. Eric had thought it thrilling, the trust these suckers put in him, lured in by his charm, and he worked overtime to maintain that confidence, that endearment, that shallow, temporary fondness, if anything to satisfy his need for attention. But he was starting to realise just how little they were interested in him. The real  _him_. Hardly anybody knew who the real him was anymore, and the few who did were across an ocean, living lives he wouldn't recognise now... or maybe they were closer, lying beside him. Many people had looked at Eric the way Kyle was looking at him now, interested, attentive, but Kyle was the first person in too long for Eric to pinpoint, to look at him without words, without having to pretend to be anybody else.

"Dude, I thought we talked about the staring..." Kyle said, still smiling.

"Huh?"

It was spoken so softly Eric thought he had misheard.

"It's cool," Kyle replied, sitting up and reaching for one of his bags. "I was gonna change into something a little less flashy anyway. Maybe that'll help..."

He shifted so he was sat on the side of the bed with his back to Eric, and he began to unbutton his shirt and peel it from his shoulders. Eric blinked, swift, sudden arousal stealing his breath and he found a spot in the corner of the room to focus on before he got distracted by taut, lean muscles and milky skin. Kyle may have wanted him to stop staring, but he sure was making it difficult.

Soon Kyle flopped down beside him, with a sigh that was close enough to what he was searching for earlier. Eric breathed his own quiet sigh, glad that Kyle was fully clothed once more, wearing one of those dreaded khaki t-shirts and a pair of shorts.

"This is nice..."

The words floated out of Kyle's mouth. Less of an announcement, and more of a thought that had drifted away from him.

Eric blinked again, and a more contained, but nonetheless exhilarating surprise raced through him. Disbelief. He nodded, smiling helplessly, delighted that Kyle could feel it too.

"Yeah, it is..."

"No, Cartman, it's  _really_  nice. Like..." Kyle stroked the sheets beneath him and nestled deeper into the plump pillow behind him. "It's probably the most comfortable bed I've ever been on..."

"Oh..." Eric nodded, delight waning ever so slightly at the realisation. "Oh, right..."

Kyle was barely listening, even his eyes were drifting shut. It was the most peaceful he had looked since they got here.

"You can sleep in here if you want?" Eric asked before he could stop himself.

Or before he could think about what he was suggesting.

"Huh?" Kyle asked, eyes opening and brow creased. "But where would you go?"

Eric gulped, at a loss. He had no other bedrooms, and while Kyle managed fine on the couch, width-wise it wasn't exactly great for him. He cleared his throat, flicked some imaginary lint from the duvet.

"I don't know..." he shrugged. "It's big enough for the both of us..."

He clamped his mouth shut immediately, just in case another inappropriate thing jumped out of his mouth without his permission.

_Seriously, what the hell was that?_

Kyle was just looking at him, brow still creased but smiling.

"Shit! Sorry, that wasn't me, like, hitting on you! I, uh-"

"No, no, I know," Kyle rushed to reassure him. He was nodding. "I'll, um... I'll think about it."

* * *

Sat on his couch with Kyle as the credits to another movie rolled, belly still full from the pasta they had for dinner, Eric could feel the invigoration of an afternoon spent in the fresh air start to dissipate. His eyelids drooped easily in the dim living room, his furniture was disappearing in his peripheral vision as slumber prevailed.

"Hey, Cartman..." he heard Kyle whisper. He was too tired to respond. "Cartman!"

A kick to his leg jolted him out of his half-sleep.

"Ow!" he yelped. "What?"

"Do you wanna watch something else?"

"Huh?" he replied, raspy already. "No..." he yawned. "God, no. I'm going to bed..."

He had a feeling he should have gone to bed an hour ago, as he could hardly remember the final act of the movie they had been watching. But his couch was so comfy, and Kyle was warm and relaxed beside him. It was difficult to wrench himself away from that.

"Alright..." Kyle nodded. He picked up the remote from the coffee table and turned off the TV.

Eric rose from the couch and stretched his stiff, lethargic limbs. He began to pad to his bedroom, rubbing at his weary eyes. Kyle had reached for his duvet and was fluffing his pillows, and as Eric watched he wondered just how comfortable his couch was... it was then he was reminded of the hasty offer he had made on his own bed, and if Kyle had indeed thought of taking him up on it. Although, he appeared to have made up his mind. Eric should have been fine with that, should have even been glad that there was no leftover awkwardness. But he couldn't help but entertain the thought that Kyle may have forgotten too, and if Kyle really did find his bed as comfortable as he said he did, then he was more than welcome to sleep in it. Truly, there were things he minded a hell of a lot more than Kyle sleeping next to him. He was growing used to being close to him.

"So, are you... uh..."

Eric lost some of his nerve when Kyle looked at him, waiting for his question, or his offer, or whatever he had to say.

"Are you staying up?" Eric asked, his breath a little short. Nervous, irritated with himself that he had chickened out.

Kyle smirked, brows furrowed as he glanced at the duvet.

"Umm... no, I'm going to bed too."

Eric smiled, sheepish, and he rolled his eyes.

"Sure..." he nodded. "Okay... good night."

Kyle nodded too, smile small but warm.

"Good night."

Eric rushed to his room, closing his doors with a thud that was way too loud for so late in the evening. He squeezed his eyes shut, throwing his head back as he wondered how the hell he was going to contain this unfiltered, flustered side of him, before it could spiral further out of control. He needed to get a grip on this, and fast.

Despite how freeing it felt to just be himself around Kyle, maybe he did need to be a little more Mitch. A little more collected, cool, and calculating, if only to preserve this tender, crucial bond that was still in its infancy. But right now, Eric felt like a computer Kyle had hacked with his charming code, bypassing walls he had maintained carefully over the years, and revealing vulnerabilities simply by deploying his earnest, probing gaze. He was at Kyle's mercy, and he was more than willing to be in his thrall. Groaning, he pulled himself away from the door and trudged towards his bed.

* * *

_Kyle wakes up to glowing, peerless light and the smell of omelettes. His eyes try to adjust to the brightness, and they succeed partially in revealing Cartman's face. He's sat next to him on the edge of the couch, but Kyle feels as though he is lying right beside him. He can see every dormant freckle, every stray hair of his otherwise neat brows, and his smile... Kyle is sure his wide, confident smile is responsible for making the room shine so. It's definitely responsible for the warmth that is becoming familiar to him now whenever he looks at Cartman. Comfort, and endearment, Kyle would go as far to say a burgeoning trust. A burgeoning... something. Something he's too afraid to name, something not so familiar, but that's not entirely unwelcome._

_"Hey..." Cartman says, gentle enough to make a pleasant shiver roll down Kyle's spine._

_"Umm... hi..." Kyle replies, unsure how to feel about the involuntary sensation._

_He flushes when Cartman simply chuckles. Suddenly, he's coming closer and Kyle can't move. Doesn't want to move. Hypnotised, drawn in like any other mark, or maybe he's believing in him? Like you would any old friend. Kyle is unsure. His gaze helplessly wanders to Carman's lips that are parted, and plump, and... inviting. He's reminded of the kiss they shared in the kitchen, stinging, and hard. For a while Kyle couldn't recall anything else about the kiss when he was numbed by adrenaline. But the sight of Cartman's lips up close again, has broken the seal on that quivering dam of shock. He remembers Cartman's lips are warm, and plush, and they clasped his own firmly. He wonders how those lips would feel against his own once more, free of anger, and fear, and blood. His eyelids droop, seemingly deciding for Kyle that he's going to find out._

_Centimetres away from his mouth, and there's a sudden lack, an impenetrable, invisible blockade, thick with tension. Kyle can taste it, and it clutches his stomach._

_"They're here, Kyle."_

_"Who's here?" Kyle asks, eyes opening. He's still hazy but Cartman is not._

_His eyes have widened, gleaming with apology, and a dread Kyle hasn't seen since they escaped the warehouse._

_"Folke," he whispers._

_"What?!"_

_Kyle looks around frantically, trying to spot him. His heart is already racing in his chest, as if its preparing itself to soar right out of his chest for safety. But the walls are sliding away, melting from his vision and leaving a startling, vulnerable openness._

_"No, no, don't look!" Cartman warns, and Kyle's attention is pulled towards him. They're both panting. "Just keep looking at me, okay? We'll be fine, but we have to get out-"_

_Suddenly, two pairs of large, bulging arms wrap around Cartman's neck and chest and tear him away from Kyle, from his vision._

_"Cartman!" Kyle screams, leaping to his feet but Cartman is nowhere to be found. He has met the same fate as the walls, descending from Kyle's eyeline._

_Disappearing._

_It sends the room to whir, and even if Kyle has no idea of his surroundings, and even if he feels like he's sprinting around a relentless, disorientating carousel, he won't stop searching the room for even a glimpse of Cartman and who took him._

_He hears familiar taunts, echoing from his memory. He follows the cruel, disturbing noise and soon sees the gang crowding around Cartman, standing over his curled up body. He cries out and tries to shield his shaking face as they punch him, coughs and groans when another foot connects with his ribs, leaving him crumpled and seething._

_"No!" Kyle cries, anger engulfing his fear. "Leave him alone!"_

_But before he can come to Cartman's rescue, Kyle is pulled further and further away, dragged on a rushing, relentless tide until his beating is just a horrific dot on a merciless, limitless horizon. Fingers ensnare themselves in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him cry out. Folke is face to face with him now, lips unfurling a broad, malicious grin, eyes wild with a sick delight, his hunger for revenge adequately sated._

_"You really thought we wouldn't find you, Glitch? You really thought we wouldn't make you pay?"_

_Kyle opens his mouth, the word 'please' aching to form on his lips but he can't speak. Only pant, and tremble. He hopes it's enough of a prayer for forgiveness._

_"And you tried to turn one of our own against us! You'd think Mitch would've learned by now that you never, ever fuck with us." Folke's grin quivers, and he grips Kyle's hair even tighter. "Because when you do, it's not just you who gets hurt..."_

_The sight of Cartman, face down and unconscious with a pool of blood slowly spreading around him, staining the flawless white horrorland, assaults his vision. Kyle chokes on a shaky, waterlogged breath, and tries to scream once more._

Instead, he woke up to darkness with only the ambient lights of a nocturnal city to ground him in reality. He tried to steady his heaving, rapid breaths, tried to grip the duvet beneath him to still his trembling fingers, but his heart was still pounding hard enough that the noise seemed to fill the - thankfully - empty room. His body was still quivering, and his t-shirt was drenched with terrified sweat, sticking to his back. He gasped, as if to expel the disorientating paranoia, but it's sat in his stomach, refusing to move, murmuring to Kyle that Folke was there, they had found them, and Cartman had...

_Oh God._

_Cartman._

Kyle had seen him, beaten, and bleeding, unresponsive. The image, horrific and disturbing, was burned behind his eyelids. How could he sleep when that nightmare image would slice through his mind like lightening? Stumbling off the sofa with shaky legs and stumbling in the darkness he staggered towards Cartman's bedroom. With damp palms, he gripped the doorknob and twisted it as tentatively as he could. Opening the door revealed Cartman's back rising and falling with every soft snore. Oblivious to Kyle's fears, peaceful, and  _safe_. Kyle attempted a steady sigh of relief, but a wispy, wavering breath had to do. He tried to turn back, to stumble to the couch again, but his feet were planted to the floor. His eyes were unable to tear themselves away from Cartman's sleeping form, as if shifting his gaze for one second would cause him to disappear, just like in his nightmare.

He remembered how comfortable Cartman's bed was, how plump the mattress was, how soft the pillows were... he'd had similar musings about Cartman's lips. Kyle cringed at the thought, but figured if sampling Cartman's lips was something he wasn't even sure he wanted to do, was too daunting to consider, then trying out his mattress was some sort of compromise, right? A safer alternative. And Cartman  _did_  offer his bed to him earlier. Would the offer still stand so late, when Cartman was unable to reject him?

Kyle was already padding over to the bed before he could consider the answer. He kept his eyes on Cartman as he lifted the duvet, sliding under the covers slowly and wincing at every dip of the mattress, every faint squeak the springs made. Finally, he could make himself comfortable. It wasn't too difficult, even if Kyle was still stiff with uncertainty and his heart was racing for a different reason entirely, his eyelids were dropping at their own accord, and he soon sank into luxuriant sheets and pillows that smelled of fresh, clean laundry.

Cartman was right, his bed really was big enough that Kyle could kid himself that he was sleeping alone. The only thing that alerted Kyle to Cartman's presence was his snoring, a soothing, distant reminder that he was here... for the first time in a long time, Kyle wasn't alone. The realisation was piercing, like forgotten sunlight through dusty, cobwebbed windows. Shoulders dropping, Kyle rolled over onto his side.

Quiet, groggy groans interrupted Cartman's usual, steady snoring. Kyle flinched.

"Kyle?" he rasped.

"Yeah?" Kyle replied, rigid once again, preparing himself for incredulity, offence, a retort that he get out.

But the beat faded away with no words spoken, and with a acquiescent grumble Cartman rolled over and soon fell asleep again. A smile actually tugged at Kyle's lips, and he fell into a simple, easy sleep, with Cartman by his side to ward off any nightmares.


	9. Worth the Risk?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, did you get the joke? In the chapter title? Because... my old fic... was called... Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter despite the lame title. I just couldn't resist. I'd love to hear your thoughts and thank you for reading!

No matter how many times it occurred to him, Kyle was shocked by the following realisation all over again:

He actually enjoyed living with Eric Cartman.

He enjoyed the great cooking, and the jokes that made him snort in the most undignified fashion, and the long, sprawling evenings on the couch. It was easy to get restless when their circumstance more often than not dictated that indoors was the safest place to be, and venturing far was a luxury, but he and Cartman were settling just fine in each other's company, and Cartman was an entertaining enough roommate to not keep him bored for too long.

He even enjoyed their sleeping situation.

Cartman's bed was big enough that Kyle was able to keep to himself, although Cartman didn't always offer the same courtesy with his stretched out limbs. But Kyle didn't mind, even when he woke up a little too close to his sleeping, drooling face, or when toes kissed snugly under the covers. Some things were more jarring and mortifying to wake up to, like Cartman's hand resting gently above the waistband to his underwear, just one round of stirring close enough for his fingers to accidentally migrate to the morning wood he was sporting.

Masturbation had been the last thing on Kyle's mind lately (with the fearing for his life and all), especially when he was in someone else's house and privacy was scarce. But what choice did he have except to remove Cartman's arm as swiftly and discreetly as he could from his stomach, before rushing to the bathroom with his face on fire, lock the door, and 'relieve' himself? It had been a while, and he had come hard and fast enough to blot out the shock and stifling embarrassment he felt when he realised just how much his mind had wandered to Cartman's grin, his captivating and  _captivated_  golden eyes, the sight of him in that damn tux in St Tropez,  _and that fucking kiss_. But how was he not supposed to think about Cartman when his stuff was everywhere, the room smelled of him, and the phantom of his touch was haunting his skin, just above a part of him still internally stirring?

One panicked, impulsive moment in Cartman's bathroom destroyed the last hold-out Kyle had. It connected and completed the dots to a constellation Kyle never thought he'd see. He had a crush on Cartman, and he was clueless as to what the hell he should do now. Cartman's feelings, his confession, remained a mild source of barely concealed discomfort between them. With all the other shit going on around them, addressing them was not a priority. But what now that Kyle's feelings were returned? Burgeoning, and not so ferocious, but still there. Would admitting how he felt to Cartman be unfair? Raising expectations and cursing him with false hope when Kyle wasn't even sure it was something he wanted to act on? He imagined how crushed Cartman would be, and pushed the thought out of his mind. Kyle knew he'd be an idiot to attempt anything that would tarnish this friendship he was cherishing with every moment spent together, it would be disastrous for the both of them. No matter how much Kyle resented this forced, unceremonious dependency on each other. He could still be grateful for everything Cartman had done for him whilst nursing his bruised pride, and he could still be content in their revived friendship while also yearn for the satisfaction of knowing he could take care of himself.

But it would be a while before he could indulge in his independence, and besides, hanging out with Cartman, sharing his bed, and having breakfast with him were pleasant enough activities to get him by. There were worse things...

"I'm gonna make some more coffee," Cartman announced. "You want some?"

Kyle looked up from his plate and nodded.

"Sure, okay..." he smiled. "Thanks..."

With his own tight, shy smile that made Kyle feel just as warm as freshly brewed coffee, Cartman grabbed his mug and headed behind the kitchen island. Kyle returned to his breakfast, smile crumpling around the piece of toast he placed in his mouth.

"Shit..."

"What?"

Kyle looked up to see Cartman glancing inside the cupboards.

"We're out of coffee."

"Oh... no problem." Kyle replied. "I'll just have orange juice then."

Cartman opened the fridge and peered inside. He soon closed it again with a sigh.

"Fresh out of orange juice too." He turned to Kyle with a small grin. "In the mood for some grocery shopping?"

Kyle scratched at his arm, fingers soon tangling together with thought. Normally, he would've jumped at the chance to go outside, and he was confident that Cartman could make something as boring and mundane as grocery shopping fun, but the thought of trailing along after Cartman like a puppy made something inside him sour.

"You know what, I actually wanted to set up all my new equipment today. But..." he smiled, and attempted to wave away any awkwardness. "Go without me."

Cartman's smile wavered, concern weighing heavily on his face.

"Are you sure?"

Kyle rolled his eyes.

"Yes? Cartman, you're not gonna take long."

"I know, but..." Cartman shook his head, and ran a hand through his hair while avoiding Kyle's gaze. "Leaving you.  _Alone_. It's..."

"What?" Kyle asked, taut and defensive.

Cartman sighed, unafraid now to look straight in Kyle's eyes.

"It's risky."

Kyle faltered, lips parting and jaw quivering as Cartman's unabashed stare and legitimate concerns became pretty difficult to argue with. But of course Kyle was going to try.

"Well, you're not my fucking bodyguard!" he snapped. He could feel his voice raising before he could stop it. "I can take care of myself!"

Cartman huffed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

"Believe me, I know that," he replied, his own patience waning. "And even though we've been lucky so far, don't you feel like we're on borrowed time?"

Kyle sucked in a defeated breath.

"Maybe, but I'm trying to not dwell on it," he mumbled, before meeting Cartman's gaze again. "Besides, once I get everything up and running I'll be able to track Folke. We'll finally have an advantage over them and some peace of mind!"

"That's one thing I'm not gonna have if they drop by unannounced when I'm gone and they finish what they started!" Cartman snapped. "I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I actually care about what happens to you."

Kyle shouldn't have been as surprised and...  _delighted._.. by the admission as he was. Because he had noticed, with Cartman's every reckless, dangerous, considerate action. But it was quite another thing to have it admitted, spoken between them and acknowledged. Kyle could at least do that, take Cartman's concerns seriously and try to assuage them. He began to nod, eyes wandering the table.

"I understand, and I... appreciate your concern." He met Cartman's earnest, uncomfortable gaze once more. "But you said this was never going to work unless we trust each other-"

"Kyle-"

"No, let me finish, okay? I know you only want to keep us safe, and maybe you're right that sticking together is the best way to achieve that. But there may be a time, days, or weeks from now - however long this goes on for - when we won't be by each other's side, and it'd be nice to know that if and when that time comes you'll trust me to take care of myself, that I'll be okay. All on my own..." he sighed. "Just like I trust you..."

Cartman blinked, and it was only now Kyle was realising that yet another something that had once remained unspoken had just been voiced. No going back, and all on the kitchen table.

"So just go, okay?" Kyle added, smiling to lighten the mood. "If I need anything I'll call you."

Cartman began to nod.

"Alright..." He huffed and rolled his eyes. "Alright, fine."

Kyle hid his pleased smile when Cartman began to lumber to his bedroom.

"So the speeches are still a thing, huh?" he asked. He was smirking when he turned his head.

"They work, don't they?" Kyle replied, with a smirk of his own.

Cartman simply chuckled and carried on.

Kyle's foot tapped against the leg of the chair, pursing his lips as he considered the best way to broach a compromise, to assuage his own niggling concerns.

"Oh, and uh... if you run into trouble while you're out, let me know, okay?"

_Might as well come out and fucking say it._

Cartman turned to Kyle once more, eyebrows raised. Kyle flushed at his incredulity, it was as agitating as a cheap, scratchy sweater. He rolled his eyes.

"I care about what happens to you too, asshole," he admitted, heat rising on his cheeks.

Cartman didn't respond, he just snickered and shook his head before disappearing into his bedroom.

* * *

Kyle had asserted his confidence that he would be fine on his own so many times before Cartman left the apartment that he thought at least  _he_  would believe it. Because he was fine! He wasn't an idiot! He knew how to look after himself! It was just that every floorboard creak and every sound that managed to the crack the white noise shell of the city snatched those assertions right from his body prickling and thrumming with adrenaline. Setting up his equipment was an effective remedy, it was familiar, and something he knew he was good at when sitting alone in Cartman's apartment without him actually being there felt quite disorientating. It had taken just under an hour for him to install all the necessary programs onto his shiny, new laptop (When Kyle saw it on display in the electronics store window, he understood why Cartman had wanted to press his nose up against the glass at Hugo Boss. Some things are so beautiful you need to be close to them despite any barriers), and it was currently fetching all the details required to find Folke from Kyle's bespoke cloud software.

A pleased smile tugged at his lips, before the slamming of the front door spooked it away. Of course it was Cartman, laden with grocery bags.

"Hey," he said, smiling and breathless from the uphill trip. "How's it going?"

Kyle nodded, smile returning and barely contained.

"Great, everything is up and running." He looked up from the screen. "How was shopping?"

Cartman scoffed, placing the groceries on the table and rolling his eyes.

"Boring. As if you really wanna hear about it with all those gadgets at your disposal." He studied the army of tablets on the table, just waiting to be synced. "This is some serious James Bond shit."

Kyle chuckled, and rolled his eyes in return. He hoped it would distract from the pathetic flattery that was welling up inside him and sure to make its presence known very soon.

"So what do you intend to do with all this?" Cartman asked as he approached the table.

"I told you," Kyle replied, keeping his eyes on the screen. "Track Folke."

Cartman was right next to him now, arms pressed together and elbows resting on the table. He plopped his chin into his hands with a huff loud enough to draw Kyle's attention to him. He had to purse his lips to contain his laughter at Cartman's puppy dog eyes almost being enveloped by his chubby, squished up cheeks. Kyle shook his head, and bit the inside of his mouth.

"And explain to me exactly how you're going to do that?" he asked.

Kyle sighed, composing himself.

"Well, when Folke contacted me for the job I was able to collect enough information to keep tabs on him." Kyle returned his attention to the screen when Cartman stood up, peering at his laptop too. "I was able to identify what device he was contacting me from and through the cloud I could find any linked accounts and their devices."

"Seems like a lot of work..."

Kyle shrugged. It may seem unnecessary to some, but he would rather be thorough when there was so much to lose from betrayal.

"Not really, I do it for every freelance job. I wanna have the upper hand if somebody is playing dirty, or is gonna stab me in the back."

Cartman snickered, soft and curious.

"That's some pretty great foresight..."

"Nah, I can't take that much credit. It's paranoia more than anything. You know how hard it is to trust anyone in this business..." Kyle lifted his head. "What do you do when someone fucks you over?"

Cartman looked to the ceiling as he pondered the question. He returned to Kyle with a smirk.

"Let them stay in my house?"

Kyle arched an eyebrow.

"Seriously..."

Cartman shrugged, humour disappearing.

"I am being serious," he replied, nonchalant and perhaps growing bored with the subject. "No one fucks me over, Kyle. I don't give them the opportunity."

"But what about me?" Kyle asked, before he could stop it. Damn curiosity swallowing his common sense.

The question stewed between them, festering without an answer. Kyle fought the urge to wince, his insides felt like they were coiling tighter and tighter... until Cartman raked his thoughtful, molten gold gaze over him. He looked at Kyle and smiled, pleased with whatever answer he had found.

"I guess you're the stubborn, paranoid exception."

Kyle smiled, not entirely sure what the answer meant but he was relieved, and simmering, and his own smile seemed to be keeping Cartman's on his face, and that's all Kyle needed for now.

"Uhh... so how did you retrieve all this information about Folke?" Cartman asked, looking at the screen and losing the smile. "I thought all your old stuff would be back in St Tropez?"

"The magic of the cloud..." Kyle replied, waving a gentle, mystical hand over the screen and regretting it immediately.

_Could you be anymore fucking dorky?_

He grumbled softly and ran the offending fingers through his hair, keeping his eyes on the keyboard to avoid looking at Cartman's no doubt unimpressed face. But he soon heard chuckling beside him, and when he looked up he saw that Cartman was grinning. Warm, and fond, and even  _amused_. It was infectious enough for Kyle to chuckle too, his chest thrumming, or maybe that was just his heartbeat picking up pace?

"That's pretty fucking cool," Cartman decided.

Kyle shrugged, in an attempt to fulfil that descriptor.

"I know..."

Cartman tried to speak, eyes gleaming and wide. When no words would come, he just shook his head and chuckled some more. Kyle didn't mind, he was starting to think he could listen to that warm, mischievous sound all day.

"Hey you, uh, want that coffee now?"

Kyle smiled and nodded.

"That would be great..."

Cartman returned the smile, heading to the kitchen. Kyle's gaze helplessly followed, distracted only when a list of Folke's recently used IP addresses flooded his screen, and his phone buzzed and glowed with a replica of Folke's own home screen, courtesy of the tracking software he had remotely installed. He grinned, his fingers shaking as he delved deeper into the blessed information. Finally, they would knew where Folke was! Finally, they had the upper hand and could anticipate his next move! But his lofty, failsafe plans were crumbling, his body shaking for a different reason when Kyle saw where Folke was, and it didn't matter how far away or close to him Cartman was now when that horrific nightmare felt like a disturbing premonition.

"Oh God..." Kyle managed to whisper without throwing up.

"I forgot, do you take milk in your coffee or-what's wrong?"

Kyle looked up, saw Cartman staring helplessly with a mug hanging limp in his grasp.

"I-i-it's Folke," Kyle replied, eyes drawn to the screen like it was a disaster he couldn't look away from. "I've found his location."

"Well... that's good, isn't it?" Cartman asked, with a desperate, flimsy optimism that he instantly stamped out. "Uh, where is he?"

"Paris."

* * *

Since their disorientating, sleep-deprived first night together in the apartment, Kyle had only known conversation to keep him in the present. Distracting, and humorous, and inquisitive, because Cartman knew how easy it was for Kyle to fold in on himself, become lost in his head, fixate and obsess. Kyle appreciated Cartman's chattiness, his suggestions to do things Kyle didn't think he was ready for until he actually went and  _did_ them, among other things. But knowing that Folke was in their city, it felt like there was a ravenous snake coiling around them and constricting all the words, all the fragile contentment, smothering them with silence.

But Cartman, persistent and optimistic, wasn't going to give up on maintaining the illusion that everything was barely fine. Another thing Kyle had to thank him for, when he was scared to even open his mouth.

"So for dinner tonight, I was thinking we could-"

He was interrupted by a creaking sound, a heavy foot on a floorboard. They both jolted, eyes roaming the room for the source of the noise.

"Shit! What was that?"

"It's okay," Kyle whispered. The momentary spike in his pulse was starting to mellow. "I think it was from upstairs..."

Cartman just nodded. Conversation felt impossible.

"Anything new?" he asked anyway, nodding at the phone in Kyle's hand.

He hadn't stopped scrolling for hours, desperate to find a scheme they could thwart.

"Not yet. I'm looking through their group chat for something but there's no messages that mention us, or anything that could even refer to us."

"Okay... that's good, right?"

Kyle sighed, wishing he could give a definitive answer.

"I don't know." He looked up at Cartman, an invaluable source of insight. "Is it?"

Cartman waited to respond, deliberating his answer.

"It's hard to make sense of anything Folke does when you're on the other side of it."

Fear lurched in Kyle's stomach, and no matter how much he wanted to assuage it he couldn't bring himself to press further.

Cartman had leaned forward, arms resting on his knees and fingers clasped.

"We should get out of here as soon as we can..." he said, his words urgent and certain.

"But where would we go?"

"I have a place in Tuscany. It's in the middle of the countryside, nothing but olive groves and vineyards for miles. We should be safe there."

Kyle nodded to himself as he thought of rolling, sun-soaked hills, a house secluded by trees, nestled between farms, and although the image was beautiful, it was bruised by the shadow of impending danger, of Folke always on their trail no matter how far they ran, and Kyle wondered when it would all end, when his new life could begin... but at least he had Cartman. And when he pictured Cartman by his side, grinning, and laughing, tan returning in the heat, and speaking Italian to any neighbours he happened to have it restored the initial loveliness, like concealer over a bruise.

"Okay," he replied, and he even tried to smile. "Italy it is then."

It was a noble enough effort that Cartman managed a small, comforting smile too. Kyle continued to scroll through the gang's messages, and banal chat made way for talk of planning, and strategy, and cuts, and galas, and cheques.

"That's weird..."

"What's that?"

"Their most recent messages," Kyle replied. "They're talking about a gala in the... Petit Palais?"

"Oh yeah, it's this hundred year old fine arts museum. Not far from the Champs Elysees." Cartman's brow furrowed. "They're gonna run a con there or something?"

"Yeah, it's..." Kyle's voice drifted off in distraction. But his eyes widened when the scope of the con began to reveal itself. "Holy shit! It's for Children's Aid. That's a huge charity, they run ads all the time back home!"

"So are they gonna use the gala as a means to steal one of the paintings?"

Kyle shook his head, brows knitting together with confusion.

"I don't think so. They don't mention any artwork. This must be like..."

Kyle's voice trailed off, plummeting along with his stomach when he realised what the purpose of this con was, stealing a cheque for an eye-watering amount of money meant for the vulnerable, exploiting a rare kindness, and suddenly he felt foolish for bailing in St Tropez. What was the point in being a martyr, in doing the 'right thing,' when there were some who continually chose to do the wrong thing?

He could feel Cartman staring at him in the corner of his eye, like he could draw the words out of him with his gaze.

"Like what, Kyle?"

"Like the Bisset job 2.0." Kyle replied, closing his eyes and releasing a devastating breath. "God damn it... "

* * *

Three AM, and not even the sound of Cartman's soft snoring could send Kyle to sleep. He stared up at the ceiling, fingers flexing for the phone and laptop he had left on the dining table for courtesy's sake, and that of his own sanity. He could have easily been sat up in bed now, hunched over the laptop as he hunted for more information, only feeding the growing, debilitating anger that was gnawing at his conscience. But that would be unfair to Cartman, who had spent all evening valiantly attempting to take Kyle's mind off Folke, and their proximity, and what he planned to do while he was here. No wonder he passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow. Kyle felt just as exhausted, but sleep eluded him when his thoughts were so preoccupied.

How had he got any job done without fuming over the injustice of it all? How had he lived with himself? How had he been so wilfully ignorant? How had he not quit sooner?

He couldn't lie there any longer. He pulled back the covers and padded out of the bedroom. He flicked the lights on in the living room, and squinted at the raw, sudden brightness. His equipment sat waiting for him on the table, and Kyle picked up his pace as he made his way over to it, desperate and impatient. Grabbing the phone from the table, he took a seat as he opened up that damn group chat, picking up right where he left off and looking for any references to himself or Cartman, if they were onto them at all. But Kyle could've forgiven himself for thinking that they were the least of their concerns right now, or that they had even forgot about them, except that he knew Cartman was serious when he said Folke took his grudges to heart, and that this must have been a job eagerly jumped on to soothe the stinging failure of the Bisset job. Kyle wished he could take comfort in the fact that there was so little mention of him and Cartman, but it just made him feel more uneasy.

"Hey..."

Kyle jumped at the sound of Cartman's voice He turned his head to see him padding across the room, hair mussed at the crown of his head and eyes bleary.

"Oh... " Kyle replied. The sleepy, endearing sight was quick to make his panic ebb. "Hi..."

"Can't sleep, huh?"

Kyle's shoulders sagged and he shook his head.

"No..." he glanced at the phone in his palm. "No, I can't stop thinking about Folke."

Cartman sighed, pulling up a chair next to Kyle.

"Me neither. But we can't watch them constantly-"

"No, I know. I'm..." Kyle exhaled heavily, and shook his head. "I-I-I'm not thinking about that."

"Then what's wrong?"

Kyle had no idea where to begin.

"I just can't believe what they're doing..." he murmured.

"You can't? Kyle, I know you're not exactly subscribed to this lifestyle, but you know this is what people like Folke  _do_ , right?" Cartman asked. "They don't think about morals, they think about themselves."

"I know..." Kyle replied, rubbing his eyes. "I know you're right. I was so fucking stupid to think I could make a difference..."

"What are you talking about?"

"St Tropez!" Kyle cried, voice cracking under the weight of this long, disheartening night. "When I bailed on the Bisset job! I bailed because I didn't agree with what we were doing, I bailed because I wanted to put a stop to it-"

"I thought you did it because you wanted out?" Cartman asked, lethargic. His brows were furrowed.

Kyle rolled his eyes, embarrassed by the unearthing of all his buried motives.

"Yeah, that too. But that was all part of it, and I have no fucking idea why I thought one heist gone wrong would put a stop to all of it... taking from innocent people, kids who don't deserve it."

Cartman snickered to himself, soft and rueful.

"Most of the people I've conned didn't exactly deserve it, Kyle..." he pointed out. "What are they planning to do, anyway?"

Kyle sighed, scrolling through the messages again.

"Apparently every year Children's Aid holds this gala and one part of the night is awarding a newer, upcoming charity with a hundred thousand Euros of its own money based on that charity's campaigning and impact, so it can keep delivering those services and gain more publicity. This year they've nominated a charity that helps families where one of the parents is incarcerated cope with the stigma, and the financial aspects, and offers counselling services to kids."

"So they won't go down that path when they're adults?"

Kyle shrugged.

"And maybe so they can learn not to feel, like, a second-hand guilt? Realise that even though what their parents did is wrong, they are not inherently bad people because of their parents actions."

Cartman was nodding.

"Seems like a good cause..."

Kyle nodded too, because even though his father never behaved criminally, he still behaved despicably, shattering Kyle's innocent, lofty illusions of him when he was way too young to understand that everybody was capable of doing bad, awful things. But even recognising that inescapable human flaw didn't make Kyle feel any better about his own transgressions, and made him wonder if this disintegration of his moral compass was something he was just genetically disposed to. He sure would've liked a steady, calming voice to reassure him that this was not the case.

"And how does Folke fit into all this?" Cartman asked.

"From what I've read, it looks like the guys are gonna intercept the arrival of whoever is representing the charity at the gala, and then Folke is going to pretend to be a representative-"

"To accept the cheque on their behalf..." Cartman jumped in when it all clicked.

"Exactly..." Kyle said, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He shook his head. "I just don't know if I can keep tracking their messages, reading their plans without doing something about it. But we need to keep an eye on them, it would be dangerous to ignore all this information."

"Then can't we just focus on that?" Cartman asked, and when Kyle glanced at him he noticed Cartman had turned to face him. His tired eyes gleaming, almost  _pleading_ with him. "I know that what Folke is planning on doing is gonna suck, and people are gonna get hurt, but... innocent hurt people get hurt every day and there's nothing we can do about it. But we can protect ourselves, protect each other, can't that be enough?"

Kyle wished it could, and he knew that in their circumstances it  _should_  have been enough. It was risky, and dangerous, and foolish to expect anymore, to disregard safety. But he wanted to change, and how would ignoring Folke's plan and thinking only of himself be any different to how he had been behaving for the past five years?

"I wanna be a good person, Cartman. How can I be a good person if I just stand by and let this happen?"

Cartman's gaze wandered the floor, searching for answers.

"I don't know." He lifted his gaze to Kyle with a limp, forlorn smirk. "I'm not exactly the authority on what it takes to be a good person."

Kyle laughed, quiet and brittle.

"But I know that... if you have a plan for how we can stop this, I'll help you out."

Kyle blinked, staring into Cartman's eyes and for the first time in a while not getting distracted by their lovely, amber shade but searching for anything that betrayed his words. But Kyle could see nothing except sincerity, and...  _trust_.

"Are..." Kyle gulped. "Are you serious?"

Cartman shrugged, in that usual cool way that Kyle was starting to realise was a mechanism for deflecting serious, revealing questions.

"Of course I am," he replied. "Look, it's easy for me to tell you to forget about this, to not worry about the things you can't control, because, well, you're a control freak-"

Kyle chuckled and rolled his eyes. His face suddenly became warmer.

He hadn't even noticed Cartman was leaning forward, but still holding his gaze. Now they were closer, Kyle could detect something else in his eyes. Earnestness.

"And you're a good person with a conscience that has somehow survived being in this business, and I know it'll tear you up if we just turn a blind eye to this."

Kyle wanted to throw his arms around Cartman in gratitude for his understanding and belief, but he knew such a risky plan deserved some caution. Besides, a part of him did want to test Cartman's commitment to his fledgling plan.

"But how will we pull it off without running into Folke?"

"We'll figure it out," Cartman replied, before grinning. "Come on, it's not as if we haven't had to be discreet on jobs before. It's kind of our specialities."

Kyle chuckled, a soft, acquiescent hum.

"We'll run a... counter-con," Cartman proposed. "And once it's over we can head to my place in Tuscany just to make sure we're not in any imminent danger. What do you say?"

Kyle nodded, no longer angry but fearless and bold.

"Let's do it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this just got interesting! What do you think will happen? Will Kyle and Eric succeed, or will it all go horribly wrong? Will my chapter titles get better? Stay tuned to find out!


	10. Day at the Palais

The tall, steep steps leading to the glittering, golden gates of the Petit Palais appeared ethereal from the sidewalk, and although Kyle knew he wasn't stepping into heaven as they entered the lobby to the fine arts museum, he was still in awe at the polished, beautiful decadence. A glass walkway opened out onto a lobby the colour of clouds at sunset, all cream columns, egg and dart mouldings, bruised watercolour ceilings, and busts and sculptures carved from gleaming ebony. It was humbling, but also a little disheartening to think that despite the security of Cartman's apartment, he had been so far missing out on being in magnificent places like these. He could hardly imagine Folke here, duplicitous and lurking in the shadows of marble masterpieces, and it made him wonder if he even deserved to be here, with plenty of lifeless, judgemental eyes staring at him from every angle.

"Kyle? Hello?" Cartman's voice was far from his mind. He soon yanked his attention towards him though, when a bright, colourful something was waved in his face. "Earth to Kyle! Come, in, nerd!"

"Huh?" Kyle asked, blinking.

"A pamphlet?" Cartman replied, mouth quirked into a smile and eyebrow arched. He handed the pamphlet to Kyle. "We gotta look the part. Although you've got a real tourist vibe going on with your staring."

Kyle snatched the pamphlet, scowling as he perused it.

"Where do you wanna go first?"

"Um... I don't know..." Kyle asked, flicking past pages of flat, slender figures from the Middle Ages, and humble seventeenth century landscapes. "I'm not much into art..."

"Me neither. I mean, an oil canvas by some three hundred year old dead Italian guy can get you a lot of money on the black market but that's the extent of my art appreciation. But we have to blend in."

"Okay..." Kyle nodded. "Let's go to the nineteenth century collection."

"Awesome," Cartman replied, no mirth and all business. "Come on..."

Before Kyle could say anymore, Cartman was off and he had to jog to catch up with him.

"So you've been here before?" Kyle asked, as they made their way down a hallway illuminated by the afternoon sun.

"Nope..."

"Really?" Kyle replied, incredulous. He laughed. "But you live here! Wouldn't you want to visit?"

"Yeah, but when I did all that touristy stuff this place wasn't high on my list. Like I said, I'm not into art. Besides, you know how it is with work, you're hardly ever home to actually do stuff there."

"Paris is home to you, then?"

It was a question that never occurred to Kyle before, maybe he had too much on his mind to ponder it. But when he thought of home and Cartman, he connected those two things with mountain peaks capped with icing sugar snow, and shouts bouncing off basketball courts, and cold, stinging air, not with cities, and gorgeous apartments, and  _France_. Homes in adulthood are secondary, new skins accommodating to ever-changing circumstances, but hometowns live under your flesh.

"Well, yeah, I guess..." Cartman shrugged. "It's as much of a home as I'm ever going to have."

Kyle was surprised at how offended he was by such a cool, sure statement, the shelving away of memories he still cherished even if often it seemed like they belonged to another life. But it was a life he shared with Cartman, experiences, good and bad, that they both owned. If anybody or anything from his hometown had left an impression on him, it was Cartman, not just living under his skin, but swimming in his veins, occupying his thoughts, the subject of growing feelings.

"But what about..."

The word died on his tongue when Cartman looked at him, oblivious and curious. This wasn't such a new thing, for Cartman's amber, hypnotic eyes to snatch his words from his mouth. He seemed to have lost his nerve to him too.

"Tuscany?" he asked, and cringed at the tiny, confused dent in Cartman's brow.

"It's just a vacation house," he replied. They continued to stroll. "I haven't been in a while. It'll be nice to back..." Cartman's shoulders drew upwards. He scratched behind his ear. "You know, despite-"

"Yeah, I know." Kyle nodded, with a small smile.

Cartman offered his own tight smile in return, before his eyes brightened at the sight of a high doorway.

"Ah, here we are! The nineteenth century!"

Their footsteps echoed on a mosaic floor, joining the murmurings of fascinated, pointing, selfie-taking tourists, and a beaming, enthusiastic tour guide trying to make his voice heard above the noise, as well as getting a group of bored looking French high-schoolers interested in the immortalisation of a scene of patriotic revolution in 1830s Paris. Kyle smiled at the glimpses of ordinary life, both inspirational and nostalgic. He found them just as interesting as the searing, acidic oils or the coy, glamorous muses on the walls.

He tucked his hands into the pockets of his newly bought jeans as he strolled around the gallery. Cartman wasn't too far from his side, conversation disappearing as their gazes gravitated toward the paintings. One made Kyle slow his steps to a complete stop. The setting was gloomy enough to be almost indistinguishable, it seemed to have robbed all the colour from the central figure. A young man, haggard and stern, with a creased brow and eyes framed by shadow. He wore armour, but he appeared to be in no fit state to fight. A spirit pretending to be a soldier. He was sat at a table, and at his feet was an older figure, kissing his outstretched hand. His face was concealed by shadow, protecting his pride, but when Kyle peered closer he saw desperation, a cloying plea for mercy. Ghoulish figures watched over the man's shoulder, mouths agape and perhaps intimidated by the fallen, scowling solider. His finger was pressed to his chin, considering the man before him, contemplating his answer. Beneath the ornate frame, Kyle noticed a plaque that read:

_Priam asking Achilles for the body of Hector_  by Theobald Chartran, dated 1876.

"You like that one, huh?"

"Oh..." Kyle jolted, flushing at Cartman's sudden, close proximity. "I don't know..."

"It's pretty depressing, if you ask me. And that Achilles has nothing on Brad Pitt."

Kyle rolled his eyes, pressing his lips together to smother his exasperated chuckle.

"Well, maybe they didn't want to make him look hot? Maybe they wanted to make him look... exhausted..."

"He looks like an asshole."

"Really?" Kyle asked. "He looks conflicted to me. Like, he's considering something... mercy or... I don't know..."

Carman shook his head.

"Nah, he looks pissed. Like he wants that old dude to leave him alone. I know grovelling, Kyle, and I know revelling in it, and that guy could definitely give less of a shit."

Kyle sighed, gaze returning to the painting.

"Whatever, I guess that's the whole point, right? Two people can look at the same thing and see something totally different...find a whole new meaning..."

His eyes wandered to Cartman in the heavy silence, to see if he could notice the weight of his precarious words on him. It was difficult, but then again, Cartman was always a master of disguise, when lately Kyle was starting to feel he was the very opposite with his feelings steadily rising to the surface. Still, he waited for  _something_. He wished he could be more specific, but he didn't know what he was looking for himself.

"How would you steal it?"

Kyle blinked.

Now that he  _wasn't_  expecting.

"What?"

"How would you steal it?" Cartman replied, with a growing, calm smile on his face.

Kyle looked around the gallery for wary tourists, or suspicious employees. Heat crawled up his throat and travelled all the way to his fingertips.

"What the fuck, Cartman?" he hissed.

"Come on, really?" Cartman asked, chuckling. "How would you do it?"

"I've never actually taken anything from-"

Cartman scoffed.

"Yeah, right..."

"I haven't!"

"Your first job was in a gallery, Kyle! You may not have held it in your hands, but you made it possible to steal..." Cartman rolled his eyes when the details escaped him. "Whatever it is that you stole. So how would you do it?"

Kyle huffed, looked over his shoulder before returning to Cartman's smirking, waiting face, his eyes gleaming with mischief. Kyle's own disapproval was crumbling, a smile dying to form on his lips.

"Okay, well... I imagine they would have a laser system installed here, so that would need to be disabled," he began. "Then you have to take care of the security cameras, best to do it when the security detail is at a minimum and is pretty lax, during the graveyard shift. And then the second could get in via a blind spot in the grounds - corners are perfect because they're almost always uncovered and if you're breaking in somewhere it's easy to get a good footing on, like, a ledge or something - and all they'd have to do after that is carve the canvas right out of the frame."

Cartman nodded approvingly as he studied the painting.

"Not bad..." he decided. "Simple, effective..."

"What would you do?" Kyle asked, arms folded and eyebrow arched. "Something elaborate and over-the-top, no doubt?"

Cartman flashed him a broad, wicked grin.

"I think a more lowkey approach would be effective," he replied. "In places like these it's always better to pretend to be a member of staff - a security guard, a manager, hell, a visiting gallery director if my ego was in need of a stroke - because you get access to all the good stuff, it's usually where you find the steal. I would go for the restoration rooms, they're heavily guarded, sure, with laser systems and all that crap, but they're unlikely to have CCTV if only trusted employees are getting in there. It's fucking crazy, how  _trusting_  people still are." He snickered and shook his head in amazement. "They make our job so easy sometimes... well..." he rolled his eyes and offered Kyle a smile of acknowledgement. " _My_ job. If you do a good enough recon, you can actually stride around these places with a confidence that isn't  _total_  bullshit, and you can make some pretty convincing fake clearance identification. A decent enough name badge gets you anywhere. If I was winging it though, lost tourist would be more my angle."

"But how would you get past the laser system in the restoration room? If you didn't have tech support on hand?"

"You can deflect them easily enough with compact mirrors. They'll bounce off each other and offset."

Kyle couldn't help but laugh, eyebrows raised.

"Jesus, who are you, MacGyver?"

"Yeah, a little." Cartman shrugged, before smirking. "I've got better hair though."

Kyle rolled his eyes to the ceiling, still chuckling.

"Okay, this has got me in the recon mood now," Cartman said, with a short clap before rubbing his palms together. "Wanna go on a little tour? Become inspired by secret entrances, and flawed security systems?"

And even though Kyle was eager to put this life behind him (and thought he already would have by now), Cartman was making it all sound so appealing, igniting that destructive, thrilling spark again.

_Just one more time._

He began to nod.

"Weirdly? Yeah, I do... " Kyle smiled.

* * *

The sound of their hurried footsteps across marble floor was enough for Kyle to feel paranoid, muscles tensing and knotting as every preoccupied, obvious gaze seemed to be boring into him. Still, he tried to imitate Cartman's steady, firm shoulders and his nonchalant stride, like he deserved to be there, like he wasn't about to slip into a room he wasn't supposed to be in.

"Okay, come on, down here..." Cartman whispered over his shoulder, as they approached a staircase leading into the cavity of the museum.

No locks, no passcodes, no laser beams guarded it. Instead, only a plush, burgundy rope and a sign that read " _Personnel Suelement_ ". Staff Only. They spared a quick, cursory glance over their shoulders before Cartman nudged the rope aside and they trotted down the stairs. Maybe Cartman was right, Kyle considered, people  _are_  too trusting. The magnificent lobby, dripping with daylight, disappeared as they descended the staircase. It was replaced by a dim, rather dank, long corridor that seemed to meander forever, sinuous and warren-like. Kyle could have kidded himself he and Cartman were the only ones down here, but he knew that was most likely untrue.

"Where do you think we are?" he asked, as he and Cartman began their first, tentative steps.

"I don't know, maybe the restoration rooms?"

Kyle came to a stop before he knew it, feeling a sudden unease at the possibility he could be close to precious, famous artworks with his presence completely unwarranted.

Cartman turned to him when he realised he had stopped, rolling his eyes and scoffing incredulously at this reluctance.

"Calm down, Kyle! As if I'm gonna steal anything..." He became serious again, searching the plain, fading walls. "I'm just trying to find a hidden entrance, or at least a staff one..."

Kyle nodded, finding his slow, considerate stride once again.

"Entering through the restoration rooms could be a good idea, I suppose..." he considered. "I mean, it's going to be quiet on the night of the gala?"

"But it could draw suspicion," Cartman pointed out. "Maybe it would be better to be where the action is. Sometimes the best place to hide is in a crowd of people..."

They continued to walk, conversation forgotten as they scoured the corridor for inspiration, a clandestine entrance, an oversight they could exploit. Soon, the coalescent smell of breakfast, dinner and every meal in between drifted into their nostrils, growing stale but still potent in the air. It was then Kyle noticed a staff locker room, and a poster on the wall detailing the health and safety guidelines of a kitchen. One column written in French, the other in English.

"Guess we're not in the restoration room then..." Cartman remarked, a delighted smile flickering in the corner of his mouth.

"Doesn't look like it. Where is everybody though?"

Cartman shrugged.

"Lunch?" He placed a hand on his belly. "I could really eat right now..."

Kyle glanced around the corridor, hardly expecting  _this_  to be its purpose. Of course there had to be a kitchen somewhere to prepare food for the cafe and restaurant located in the museum, as well as for events like the one Folke intended on crashing...

"Wait, you think they'd hire a private catering company for the gala?" Kyle asked. "It's going to be a pretty big operation, right? They could use the extra hands."

Cartman blinked, intrigued.

"I'm listening..."

"So then maybe pretending to be an outside hire is the best way to go? You said so yourself that in places like these impersonating an employee is more effective, and if we're working for a private catering company we can remain pretty anonymous."

Cartman nodded, gaze wandering away from Kyle as he considered it.

"We would need identification..."

"I could do some research." Kyle smiled, eager to set his blossoming plan in motion. "Find out who the catering company is?"

"And I could make the passes we need, no problem... where are you gonna set up all your equipment though? You'd need to have eyes everywhere."

"That locker room will work. Hack into the security feed, barricade the door and I should be fine..."

Cartman grinned.

"Sounds like a plan..."

Cautious, echoing footsteps snuffed out the smiles on their faces like a flame on a candle.

"Qui est la?" A disembodied voice asked.

"Shit!" Kyle whispered.

Cartman huffed, grabbing Kyle's wrist and pulling his rigid body towards him. They hid in a dark, cold corner and Kyle nearly jumped at the feeling of Cartman's thick, warm arm securing him and holding him close enough for their bodies to meld into the wall. Kyle wasn't ready - never thought he'd be ready - for his body to be so close to Cartman, and it was the first night in Cartman's kitchen all over again, gripping his wrist so tight it could break, kissing his lips so hard he could crush them. Kyle's heart pounded in his chest at the memory, at the trouble they were currently in, and at Cartman's heat, and smell, and his breath blowing atop his curls like mist on a lake.

"Qui est la?" The voice asked, growing louder and shrill. "Vous n'etes pas cense etre ici!"

"Fuck..." Cartman muttered, before unceremoniously releasing Kyle.

In the faint light Kyle could make out him hurriedly popping open the buttons on his shirt, and his eyes widened.

"What are you doing?!" He hissed, managing to find his voice.

Cartman had just finished running his hands through his hair. It stuck up in messy, static angles.

"Just follow my lead!"

Kyle clenched his jaw, and grabbed two handfuls of his hair to tousle.

"Sortir!"

Kyle suddenly found his wrist being grabbed again, yanked out of that dark corner. He stumbled behind Cartman, almost head-butting his back as Cartman slowed his steps to an excruciating, sloth-like pace. Shoulders hunched and sheepish, he then raised his free hand to the employee who caught them. Kyle was surprised at the babyish, nervous face who greeted them. He looked younger than they were, and even more nervous.

"Bonjour!" Cartman smiled. He raised his eyebrows. "You speak English? Anglais?"

He nodded vigorously.

Cartman then placed his hand to his chest, with a contrite breath.

"I'm so sorry, my husband and I..." Cartman's hand moved from Kyle's wrist to his hand before he could realise what was happening. His fingers slipped seamlessly between Kyle's own, grasping and holding them tight. Kyle felt like he was squeezing all the breath out of him, but he daren't let go. "We were looking for the bathroom, but we got lost! And well, one thing led to another... we're on our honeymoon so..." Cartman rubbed the back of his neck, coy gaze wandering the floor before they widened, lit up with mercy. In the cold corridor, Kyle felt close to combustion at what he was suggesting. "But I'm so, so sorry we got carried away-"

"You can't... down here..." The employee blustered, growing red. "Food is prepared here!"

"We understand that. It was stupid, we know, but... we would really appreciate it if you didn't tell anybody about this," he pleaded, with a small smile of modest charm. "Especially your boss. We didn't mean to cause trouble..."

The employee's quivering mouth clamped shut as he considered this polite, genial stranger's request. Kyle held his breath as he waited, his fingers twitched in Cartman's clasp.

"Alright..." the employee whispered. He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Alright, just go."

Cartman's body sank in faux relief, almost dragging Kyle down to the floor with him.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you so much, we'll be leaving right away! But, uh, could you tell us where the bathroom is first, s'il vous plait?"

"First floor, next to the Renaissance collection," the employee mumbled, pointing in the direction of the stairs but refusing to look at the trespassing pair.

"Thank you." Cartman nodded, smiling. "Let's go, honey..."

With a tug, Kyle was being led to the stairs, still holding Cartman's hand. They marched swiftly, and Kyle prayed Cartman didn't notice how his palm was prickling with sweat. His lips were pursed, and only when they were midway up the stairs did Cartman release his signature cackle. Kyle flushed, finally wriggling free of Cartman's grip.

"What the fuck was that?" He asked Cartman with a shove. There was laughter in his voice and his cheeks were searing.

Tears were beading at Cartman's lashes he was laughing so hard.

"It saved our asses, didn't it?"

"Yeah, but you couldn't think of anything better than us being  _married-_ "

"Well, that dweeb down there bought it! What, you think you could do better than me? I'm a catch, Kyle!"

Kyle scoffed, avoiding Cartman's eyes but he could still feel heat rush through his throat to the tips of his ears.

"Right..." he murmured, as sarcastically as he could muster.

The mood soon began to simmer, Kyle's breathing started to regulate, his heartbeat mellowed, and he felt brave enough to look at Cartman again. It was only then he realised that Cartman had been preoccupied with him all this time, smile stretched in lazy contentment, his eyes brimming, amused and fond. Kyle raised a hand to his cooling face, shrinking into his own self-conscious touch under the enormity of Cartman's stare.

"What?" he asked, barely audible.

"Huh?" Cartman asked, as though in a trance. He blinked, shaking his head and clearing his throat. "Oh, nothing it's just..." a smile spread across his face once more. "Your hair is all fluffy..."

"Oh..." Kyle chuckled, before he realised how he must have looked. "Oh, shit..."

He finger-combed his hair and patted at his more unruly curls.

"I guess we'd better leave, then..."

Cartman shook his head.

"Oh no, not without some lunch first..."

Kyle rolled his eyes, but followed him without complaint.

* * *

Sat in the Palais' garden cafe, with chatting tourists to his right, verdant, tumbling plants alive with butterflies to his left, the sound of clinking glasses, and cutlery on china bouncing from the tall marble columns all around him, and Cartman right in front of him, gladly tucking into a tangy-sweet plate of crepe Suzettes, Kyle could barely believe how at peace he felt with his surroundings. Absorbing all that he could hear, and see, and smell, and feel without the usual, overwhelming paralysis of guilt, or shame. He remembered how he had sat, only a few weeks ago, hunched and stiff in that glamorous, bayside restaurant with Cartman, just as extravagant, and beautiful, and offering its own luxurious peace, but one that Kyle had refrained from. The company hadn't changed of course, but maybe it had changed  _him_. His perception, not only of Cartman, but himself. Cartman had proven himself to be a devoted friend, not only making Kyle feel safe, but better about himself. He wasn't just a criminal, a theif, existing on the fringe of society,  _Glitch._  He was just Kyle, still Kyle, perhaps even the Kyle Cartman remembered from childhood, the Kyle he had grown such fond, concealed feelings for. He wasn't the sum of his worst parts, but a faceted, fallible whole.

Glancing at Cartman from across the table, Kyle lifted his coffee to his lips as he considered how often he was thinking the same thing about Cartman, an epiphany slowly unwrapping itself. After all, their reunion had proven they were not so different...

"Kyle?"

Kyle blinked, swallowing his coffee. Shit, had he been that obvious with his staring?

"Yeah?"

Cartman wiped away the sticky, citrus residue from his mouth.

"Are you really sure you wanna quit this?"

Kyle placed his cup on the table, brow furrowing. It was a question reminiscent of their lunch in St Tropez, and one Kyle thought Cartman already had an answer for.

"Huh?"

"Are you sure you want to quit? You're so good at this, and you can't tell me you didn't have fun today-"

"Yeah, okay, it was..." Kyle rolled his eyes. " _Fun_  but I can't keep doing this job, Cartman! I was pretty fucking sure of that when I bailed in St Tropez! It's not exactly sustainable..."

"Says who?" Cartman shrugged, leaning back in his chair with a wide, challenging grin. "I'm gonna keep doing this for as long as I can..."

"And what does that mean?" Kyle asked, part wry, and part serious. "Until you're arrested, or killed?"

Cartman's grin shrank, and his eyes darkened with something close to offence, like clouds of reality were obscuring his optimism.

"Hey, just because you've had some wonderful epiphany about a greater purpose doesn't mean you get to judge me, alright?"

Kyle was stung by the suggestion, but spent too many years arguing with Cartman to hold back on what he felt.

"I wasn't judging you, I was just...  _suggesting_  that maybe it's not an ideal long-term career. Come on, you must have had other aspirations! I know you, Cartman, you started a hundred different career paths before we even got to middle school!"

Cartman rolled his eyes in defeat, smiling.

"Fine, okay... I guess when I was a kid I wanted to be... on TV, or... a CEO, or a billionaire-"

Kyle couldn't help but laugh as he pictured Cartman perfecting each one.

"Anything else?"

He shrugged, pushing the resting fork across his plate with his finger.

"I was into photography. That might have been cool-"

"See!" Kyle exclaimed. "There's always been more than this job! And I'm not saying you should pursue any of them, but I'm just saying that this wasn't always your destiny-"

"No, but it's exciting, and it's lucrative, and it's what I'm good at. I get to travel, and have adventures, and answer to no one-"

"What about Folke?" Kyle asked, before he could stop himself. "You answer to him, don't you?"

Cartman nodded, a considerate but cool smile on his face.

"Sometimes... but I've always been his favourite, even if he won't admit it-"

"Even now?"

"Okay, maybe this one little transgression has made me fall out of favour, but... come on, he didn't stand a chance. Given the choice, it was always going to be you." He met Kyle's gaze, to make Kyle sure, perhaps, but Kyle was in no doubt with how firmly Cartman held his gaze. "It  _is_ you."

Those three words, definitive, unassailable, and tempting, were enough to make Kyle crumble, to wonder if he really didn't want more, to take the risk and gladly run with it with Cartman by his side.

"Shit..." Cartman muttered. He placed his hands on his lap and tore his gaze away from Kyle. "That was way too intense, huh?" he chuckled thinly. "You can forget I said that-"

"No," Kyle said, thoughtless once more. He shook his head. "No, it's okay... your loyalty... it's nice to know where it lies."

He smiled, encouraging Cartman to smile too.

"So what about you?" he asked. "You keep saying you wanna get out, but you haven't really elaborated on what you're gonna give this all up for."

"Uh, well, I guess I always thought I'd go down the techy route. Be like, a programmer, or a software developer but..." Kyle sighed, smiling wider. "I think I'd really like to work with kids, and go into teaching. It would be hard given my past but if I can do a good enough job of clearing everything up I should be fine."

"I think you'd make a great teacher," Cartman replied. "Like, getting paid to lecture people sounds like your dream gig."

Kyle chuckled, cheeks flushing, and he nodded. While that was a dream, it wasn't  _the_  dream. The dream he had been sure of for as long as he could remember.

"But what I want more than anything is a family..."

Cartman's brow furrowed.

"You have a family?"

Kyle scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"You know what I mean! Kids, and a husband or a wife, and a nice house, and maybe a dog..." he grew sheepish, and sighed. "That would be perfect."

Out of the corner of his eye he could feel Cartman staring at him, lips sealed tight with chuckles bubbling. It was that familiar fondness, that quiet contentment, that Kyle couldn't be affronted by. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if that was an aspiration they both shared, if despite Cartman wanting to continue his heedless, hedonistic life he did see a family in his later years, when he was old, and bored, and in need of company. He fidgeted, clearing his throat.

"Have you ever thought about having a family someday?"

Kyle told himself it was curiosity that prompted the question, not an unofficial test to calculate the risk of actually acting on his feelings.

Lower lip jutted, Cartman considered the question before shaking his head.

"Nope..." he replied, reaching for his drink.

"Really?" Kyle asked, disappointment weighing heavier on his chest than he thought it would. He prayed his voice wouldn't break under the pressure. "Never?"

Cartman shrugged.

"Families aren't all they're cracked up to be," he replied, matter-of-fact and weathered beyond his years. Kyle supposed Cartman had only ever known the heart-wrenching, lacking side of his shiny, idealistic coin. "I guess it's just not who I am."

Kyle nodded, riding out the long, stifling beat. He hoped it would shift the weighty, unexpected disappointment. What was he expecting? And since when did he want to have a family with Cartman, anyway? He didn't even know if he wanted to date him! Let alone have his future revolve around him. They wanted different things, and Kyle guessed that was a pretty telling indicator that keeping his feelings to himself was the best thing to do. They couldn't afford to hurt each other.

"So I guess when this is all over we'll be heading down pretty different paths, huh?" Cartman asked with a smile.

Kyle nodded again, chuckling at the disparity in their futures and how clear it was now that it was spoken aloud.

"Yeah, it seems like..."

Honestly, Kyle hadn't even considered the possibility of this  _ever_  ending. It roused a bittersweet, melancholic confusion.

"I'll keep in touch if you will."

Kyle met Cartman's gaze, and saw he was serious.

"Of course I will." He replied, with an earnest smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so fun to write, and I hope it was fun to read! Thank you so much for reading, and I'd love to know your thoughts! The next update might be a while as I'm going on a trip soon/writing a oneshot since I've been in the mood to write one lately. But don't worry, there will be an update soon enough! Thank you for your patience!


	11. Operation Cannot Possibly Fail, Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter, but I couldn't not post something before I went on my trip! I hope you enjoy what's here, and I'm going to place a warning for some minor violence later on. Thank you for reading, and I'd love to hear your thoughts!

The night of the gala had arrived, and Eric was ducking away from the searching lights illuminating the Petit Palais in all its nocturnal glory to sneak around the back of the building with Kyle. Sparsely lit, the rear of the building was bustling with a different kind of atmosphere. Uniformed employees lifted boxes out of vans, instead of valets helping glamorous celebrities out of gleaming, rented cars. Managers hollered instructions instead of journalists and paparazzi calling out famous names like desperate incantations. Eric and Kyle lingered in the threshold, shrouded by darkness and protected from the security cameras Kyle hadn't yet had a chance to manipulate. Standing there, camouflaged and calculating, Eric felt like a predator ready to strike on unsuspecting prey, hunched, and staring, and nearly growling and raring to go. God, he had missed this. The thrill, the risk, the revelling in imminent triumph (Eric very rarely tasted defeat, and hated it when he did), made all the more intoxicating when he knew it would make Kyle happy.

In fact, this impromptu job was made all the more enjoyable by Kyle's company. Surprising in some ways, when Eric usually preferred to run a job without a partner, but oh so predictable in others, when everything felt so much more fun, satisfying,  _meaningful_  with Kyle around... to listen to him, talk to him, laugh with him-

"Wait!"

Steady him.

Eric turned around, and in the borrowed, refracted light he saw Kyle holding out two, small EPs in his palm.

"Here..."

Eric smiled, taking one.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, as he slipped it in his ear. "You psyched?"

"A little, yeah?" Kyle replied, copying him. "I'm just hoping we can get it over with-"

"We will," Eric assured him. "All we've gotta do is get that guy to his seat and throw Folke off the trail. Then this time tomorrow, we'll be in Italy."

Kyle nodded, quickly and with his eyes closed.

"Right," he said through a calming sigh. He opened his eyes and smiled at Eric.

It was one Eric easily returned.

"Let's head in."

Keeping their heads low, they slipped in through the staff entrance where they found themselves a week ago, except now it was filled with people who were dressed in the same unremarkable white and black uniform as Eric, spilling out of the steaming, noisy, aromatic kitchen. Staff both permanent and only hired for the evening all murmured together, and a manager with hair scraped back in a bun, wearing a skirt suit far too stuffy and oppressive for such a warm, cramped area was speaking in high, quick French. Eric's shoulder was pressed against Kyle's in the crowd, a firm reminder that they were in this together. Suddenly, the manager's eyes scanning the crowd stalled on the two of them, horrified.

"Vous!" She pointed at Kyle, directing everybody's eyes to look at him. He was dressed in a pair of jeans and a plain, grey t-shirt, sticking out among the monochrome staff. "Que faites-vous? Pourqoi tu n'es pas habille?"

"Uhh..."

Eric gave Kyle a small, encouraging nudge.

"Pardon," Kyle continued. "Je n'avais pas le temps. Je peux changer maintenant?" he hitched the backpack that contained his equipment further up his shoulder. "Je serai rapide."

Eric lowered his head to hide his pleased grin.

Just like they had practiced.

The manager rolled her eyes, waving her hand dismissively at him.

"Bien..."

Kyle nodded.

"Merci..." he said. He spared Eric a quick glance and a small smile before hurrying away.

The manager continued her frantic rambling and gesticulations which Eric soon zoned out of. Growing bored, he inched his way to the back of the crowd.

"You know, considering we had no prep time that was pretty good..."

"Thanks..." Kyle's voice was brittle, nestling in his ear canal.

"You'll be bilingual before you know it..."

"Ugh, don't count on it."

Eric snickered to himself, hands tucked in his pockets.

"Everything okay in there?" he asked.

"Yep, just setting up. I'll let you know when I've got eyes on Folke."

"Copy that."

* * *

The murmuring guests were just finishing up their first course, the young orchestra were playing Vivaldi, and Eric was gliding around the room with a crisp, white napkin placed over his arm like a consummate professional. He spotted a nearly empty champagne flute and approached the table.

"Plus de champagne, madam?"

The guest looked up from her conversation with a smile and nodded.

"Oui, sil vous plait..."

She continued to talk as Eric filled her flute with the golden, effervescent liquid.

"Merci beaucoup..."

Eric nodded, before walking away. He had some time to kill until the next course was served, and he had yet to hear from Kyle that Folke or the gang had been spotted, or that Augustin was on his way. Kyle had discovered the identity of the representative Folke intended to ambush, and hacked into his email account to discover what transport his PA had arranged to the gala and what time he was due to arrive. All Eric was waiting for was a signal.

"You'd make a great waiter..."

Even above the mingling conversation and reverberating strings, Kyle's voice was warm, crisp and clear. Unlike the syrupy, sharp notes that soared to the high ceiling and remained there like doves making a home in the rafters, Eric heard every word, and hoarded it He told himself he was allowed to be possessive, cling to the small things, when he would most likely never hear Kyle's hushed, hot whisper up close, or feel his lips against his ear.

He grinned.

"If this is your way of making me switch careers again, then forget about it," he murmured.

He heard Kyle chuckle, and pursed his lips to contain his growing smile.

"Any sign of Folke yet?"

"No, I haven't spotted him or the others in the building at all," Kyle replied, sighing. "Not even in the grounds..."

"Alright, well... it's eight forty-five. Augustin's car is coming at nine, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is."

"Then I'd better head out."

Eric waited for a confirmation, brows furrowing when none came.

"Kyle? I'm gonna head out, okay?"

"Yeah..." Kyle replied, as absent-mindedly as possible when he was in another part of the building. "Okay..."

Eric smothered the keen, rising feeling of confusion in this chest, just a dangerous symptom to infectious, malignant doubt. On a job, the less thinking you could do the better. Thoughts were quick, sure, rooted in the present. Eric could ask Kyle what was up when the job was finished, when they were on their way to the airport. No, his biggest concern now was how to slip out of the room without drawing attention to himself, with a valid excuse. He redirected his mind to finding the best possible diversion, his eyes scanning the room for an appropriate object or person. He smiled when he realised he had a glistening, expensive example already in his hand.

He opened his palm, and the bottle of champagne fell to the floor with a piercing smash, shards of glass twinkled as if they were trying to imitate the sparkling chandeliers above them. The smash derailed the conversations of the nearby tables, guests looked over their shoulders and gasped, some even tutted disapprovingly. Right on cue Eric's flustered manager was bounding over, lips drawn tight as she sucked in a scream.

"Tu fais quoi?!"

"Je suis vraiment desole!" Eric pleaded, hands clasped in a prayer for mercy under his chin. "S'il vous plait, je suis tellement desole, c'etait un accident!"

She sighed, eyes closed. She pinched her nose as if it could prevent her head from exploding.

"Il suffit de le nettoyer maintenant!" she snapped, eyes flying open with rage she couldn't contain.

Eric nodded vigorously.

"Oui, tout de suite..." he replied, even offering her a little bow before he scurried out of the room.

Striding into the quiet, dim lobby Eric allowed a satisfied grin to spread across his face.

"Okay, heading out now." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Man, call it a cheap trick but there's nothing more effective or satisfying than breaking-"

"Cartman, wait!"

"Yeah?" he asked, grin fading and he came to a stop. "What is it?"

"We..." Kyle paused, took a deep, fortifying breath. "We don't have to do this..."

"Huh?"

"We don't have to do this," Kyle repeated, steadier, braver now that he had already said it once. "We... we can forget about it, and just go to Tuscany, if that's what you want-"

"What I want is to help you!" Eric snapped, before taking a quick glance over his shoulder. The coast was clear, but he still flushed at the volatile, unexpected rise in his voice. "Where is all this coming from?"

"I... I don't know, I just... the fact we haven't seen them all night just doesn't sit right with me."

"Well, maybe they're just hanging back," Eric replied, heading to the door.

"Or maybe there's something bigger going on here that we don't know about..."

Eric was at the top of the steps now, but not even the evening chill made him feel as cold as the unfamiliar, anxious shiver that Kyle's words had elicited, slithering down his spine as slow and menacing as a hungry snake. How long had Kyle been feeling this way? Was it unfounded nerves, a sudden suspicion, or something he had been pondering for a while? Eric frowned at the latter, jaw tightening as chilly nerves were replaced by a simmering, indignant anger.

"Great, and how long have you had this little theory for?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kyle asked, affronted.

Eric began to trot down the steps.

"Look, I'm not fucking bailing on this just because you're getting cold feet like you did in St Tropez-"

"I didn't get cold feet in St Tropez, you asshole! I wanted out! Why is that so hard for you to understand?!"

"Look where we fucking are, Kyle!" Eric replied, voice straining and he didn't care how loud he was.

"Hey, planning a 'counter-con' or whatever, was  _your_  idea-"

"No, no, no, my  _original_  idea was to get out of Paris before they found us, but you couldn't leave this thing alone-"

"You said you wanted to do this..." Kyle replied, voice small, shrinking from Eric's bitter, acerbic words when he never had before. "You said you wanted to help me..."

It was the first time too, that Eric felt a second-hand sting, and seethed.

"I did, Kyle. I  _do_ , I just..."

"Then why are you still pursuing this?" Kyle pressed. "I'm giving you an out."

"I don't want out!" Eric exclaimed, his voice cracking to reveal the crux of this whole thing. The fatal flaw in their otherwise airtight pact to stick together. "You do! I've never wanted out..."

Kyle scoffed, and it was a discomfiting, niggling noise in his ear.

"I should've known..."

"What?"

"This was never about helping me," Kyle accused, dealing his own hefty dose of spite. "You just miss the fucking thrill of this so much that you jumped on the first opportunity you saw, didn't you?"

Eric was glad he had reached the sidewalk, he was close to toppling, incredulous, at Kyle's ingratitude. But the worst part was that Kyle wasn't entirely wrong, and he was reminded then why relationships are best kept short-term, shallow, and laconic, because to strangers you will always be unpredictable, infallible, sharing an equal balance of power. To Kyle, Eric was predictable, nowhere near perfect, and vulnerable, and it was at times like these he hated it.

"Didn't you?"

"Hey, you know that's not true!" Eric argued, because he would never admit defeat, no matter how partial or minor. "Everything I'm doing, I'm doing for you! To keep you safe, to keep you protected! God, and to keep you fucking...  _happy_! Is it so fucking bad that a tiny, little part of me wanted to do something for myself?"

"If this goes wrong they're gonna kill you, Cartman..." Kyle stated, simple and grave.

Eric snickered sardonically, Kyle wasn't so invincible.

"That seemed to be a risk you were willing to take a week ago." He frowned, disappointment weighing on his chest. "I thought you trusted me-"

"I do!" Kyle exclaimed. " I do, I... Please, can we just go?"

Eric shook his head, still strolling down the sidewalk, eyes trained on the passing cars.

"Nothing is gonna go wrong. Everything is gonna be fi-"

Eric was cut off by a bulging arm wrapping around his neck and squeezing. He coughed and spluttered as the arm pressed down mercilessly on his windpipe, sending Eric to hold out his arms, clawing into nothing as if he could grab the air in front of him.

"Cartman?" Kyle asked, panic needling his voice. "Cartman, what's happening?"

Eric wanted to talk, scream, tell Kyle to get out of there while he could. To just go to the apartment, gather his things and go to the airport, or if it was too late for that then to just get to the airport as soon as he fucking could. He struggled, gritted his teeth and began clawing into the arm that had a vice grip around his neck. A taut, seething body was pressed against his back. He soon felt hot, enraged breath on his cheek.

"Didn't think we'd find you, Mitch?" Anders asked, and even though his eyes were slowly filling with burning tears, Eric could still hear the evil grin in his voice.

"Cartman!" Kyle shouted. "Oh my God, is that them?! Are you okay?!"

"Oh, Folke's going to be so happy to see you..."

Eric's eyes widened as a rag was pressed to his mouth, covering his nostrils. He tried to protest, to bite the palm that was attempting to smother him. But his mouth felt elastic, like it was melting away from his jaw, no longer his. He could feel no pavement beneath his feet, no connection to the Earth at all, and his mind was too sluggish to stop his eyes from helplessly closing, pulling him into oppressive, pitch-black darkness.

The last thing he heard before he succumbed was Kyle screaming his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I'm at it, I should probably apologise for the cliffhanger too. But remember this chapter is part one of two, which will hopefully be posted in a few weeks! Thank you so much again for reading!


	12. Operation Cannot Possibly Fail, Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! And I'm so sorry I took so long to update this! With my trip and *ahem* other fic ideas, I was pretty distracted but part two is finally up! I'm pretty nervous about this chapter and I don't know if I'll ever be happy with it. It was fun and challenging to write, but there's a lot of action-y stuff in here that I'm not used to writing. Still, I hope you guys enjoy! Again, I'll place a warning for some minor violence and mentions of blood here. Also, as this is a part two, you may want to read chapter 11 again if you're a little bit fuzzy on what happened previously because, believe me, it's been a long time, I understand! Thank you so much for reading and I'd love to know your thoughts!

An incomprehensible amount of time later, Eric woke from swamp-like sleep. Like he was drowning in molasses, his eyelids began to twitch before drooping again as he furiously fought to keep them open. His throat felt caked too, with phlegm, or saliva, or whatever the hell he could taste in his mouth. A chemical taste, as severe as hard liquor but completely void of any rush.

"He's waking up..." he heard a voice mutter... was it Klaus?

He blinked away the plasma that seemed to be responsible for his filmy vision. But still, his eyes were strained by small, faraway light that were still stark enough to burn. Familiar blobs crowded around him, and with a couple more blinks they morphed into his former associates. He grumbled involuntarily, rousing his vocal chords from slumber.

"I told you the chloroform wasn't enough! He's only been out ten minutes! We've only just got him in the van-"

"Fuck off! You weren't the one who had to haul his fat ass in here!"

"Shut up, both of you!" Folke snapped. Even disorientated, his glare was unmistakable to Eric. "I'll take it from here..."

He tried to hold it, squinting as his consciousness seemed to ebb and flow. Folke stalked towards him in the cramped confines of (what Eric now realised was) a van. The lights, and Folke's presence, and his confusion, and fucking shame that he had gotten into this mess made him loll his head, exhausted and defeated.

"Wake up, Mitch..." Folke taunted, soft and sinister. He growled. "Wake up, you little shit!"

Folke clawed into Eric's hair, and he seethed as he was pulled face-to-face with his snarling boss. At least the pain, sudden and persistent, dragged him away from the dregs of unconsciousness. But it sent panicked questions rushing to his mind, tumbling over each other for answers.

"Where... how... Ky-"

The snarl unfurled into an evil, menacing grin.

"Hello, Mitch..."

"Folke..." Eric responded, a hoarse whisper.

"You really thought we wouldn't find you?"

"Where's..." Eric had to swallow Kyle's name down. The letters were like shards of glass in his throat, making his nose sting and his eyes brim with tears. " _Glitch_?"

"Your little friend isn't here at the moment," Folke teased, dropping Eric and letting his elastic body flop. "But he will be, soon enough..."

Eric took laboured, shaky breaths.

"Please..." he begged. "Please, Folke, don't hurt him-"

His plea was destroyed by Folke's fist connecting with his jaw. The chemical taste was replaced with a distinct, copper tang. Eric smothered the hiccupping sobs in his chest with more heavy, steady breathing.

"You have the fucking nerve to ask anything of me?!" Folke yelled. "After how you betrayed us!"

Eric gritted his teeth, his sobs swallowed up by anger.

"Is that what this is all about?!" he replied, the words clawing at his throat. "You want to teach me a lesson?! Fine! Fucking punish me! Just don't drag him into it! I'm the one who's selfish, a-a-and untrustworthy, and disloyal-"

Folke scoffed.

"I trained you too well." He grimaced as he raked his gaze over Eric. "You're starting to believe your own bullshit..."

"What the fuck are you talking about?!"

Folke shook his head, eyes avoiding Eric as though he were just as mad at himself.

"I should've known something was wrong when you first saw each other in that warehouse... how you kept looking at him... I should've known..." he paused his self-castigating to give Eric one of his arrogant, sinister grins. "But like your no good friend I have ways of finding out information as well, Mitch. Or should I say...  _Eric_..."

If Kyle's name was broken glass in his throat, then the utterance of his own name by the most dangerous person he knew, a name that he had protected, hidden, buried, forgotten about, was like a cloud bursting acid rain above his head. It seeped into his pores, and poisoned his veins, and scorched every part of him. His heart, his lungs, his brain, his voice. He wanted it out. Gone. Thrown out of the van and crushed under a car so nobody could ever steal it like Folke just had. Not even Kyle called him 'Eric.' Right now, he never wanted to hear his name again.

"How did you know-"

"You're an idiot!" Folke yelled. "You thought you were safe here? You thought we'd forgotten all about your indiscretion and moved on to the next heist? You really thought you could outsmart me?! I knew you'd try to trace us! I knew that pathetic, noble son of a bitch couldn't resist trying to bring us down! I knew his conscience would get the better of him, and  _he_  would get the better of you! He's made you weak!"

The remorse was crushing, pushing tears into Eric's eyes.

"So you lured us here to-"

"Get what you deserve!" Folke cried, manic and terrifying in a way Eric had never experienced before.

"Where is he, Folke?" he asked, face creased with a desperation he didn't try to hide. "You've at least got to tell me where he is! Please, I need to see him! I..." he sighed, shattered. There was so much he wanted to tell Kyle now. "I need to talk to him..."

Folke chuckled.

"Oh, don't worry, you and Kyle will be seeing each other very soon..."

* * *

Kyle was stumbling through the dimly lit grounds of the Petit Palais when he heard Folke say his name. It was a cruel, deliberate nick at the thick layer of shock his mind was currently operating in, not thinking, just doing because if he stopped and thought about the reality of this awful, fucked-up situation then he would've thrown up, or passed out, or curled up on the floor and sobbed. No, he was only focusing on doing. Hurriedly packing up his equipment and getting the fuck out of the building while Folke and Cartman's conversation provided a torturous soundtrack, warring with his numb inner monologue, forcing movement and action, because  _Folke has Cartman_ and Kyle  _wasn't going to let anything happen to him._

Bracing himself against a cool, stone wall he swallowed the lump that had lodged itself in his throat following Folke's words. He needed to find out where Cartman was, where he was going, and get him the fuck out of there before Folke could do anything worse, and inflict whatever ruthless revenge he had been calculating since they fled St Tropez. Kyle snarled, no way would he give him the satisfaction. He stumbled to the front of the building, and the moonlit gleam of a black, unmarked van caught his eye from the sidewalk, perched suspiciously on the perimeter of the venue. Just like the one in St Tropez. He lurched towards it, determination and adrenaline propelling him until he was actually running. But the van pulled away, abrupt and with noises of complaint from the engine, and wheels burning against the tarmac.

"Shit!" Kyle hissed.

There was no way in hell he could lose them. He spotted some fashionably late cars pulling up outside, greeted by valets who were barely spared a glance as guests and their assistants dropped jangling keys into their palms and continued with their  _oh so important_  conversations as they made their way inside. Perfect, but Kyle had to be quick. He ran towards one car, the valet just about to get in and move the vehicle as Kyle approached. Teeth gritted, he dragged the poor guy out of the driver's seat, and before he could even ask Kyle what the hell was going on, he was head-butted and thrown to the curb. Kyle's mind rattled from the impact, but he wasted no time in slotting the keys in the ignition and spotting the van in his rear view mirror. Pressing his foot on the gas he careened onto the road, ignoring the protesting beeps as he swerved and kept his eyes trained on the ominous vehicle, vowing to never lose it from his sight.

Kyle's suspicions were soon confirmed that the sinister looking van was indeed his target, as it quickly gave chase. Taunting Kyle with its proximity, before taking jagged, unceremonious turns and weaving through the busy Parisian traffic. Kyle narrowly dodged other cars and ignored the honks of displeasure from the motorists around him as he picked up so much speed he felt like the car would take off and fire right into the van like a missile.

Soaring through the city, they soon reached the long, painful stretch of motorway. There was nowhere for either vehicle to hide on the ambient strip of road, the both of them tunnelling furiously through the night to an unknown somewhere Kyle could only dread. It threatened to steal Kyle's nerve, but he thought of Cartman, afraid, possibly injured, who had done so much for him, who had  _saved_  him, and enlivened him, Cartman who was infuriating, alluring, fascinating, magnetic, urged him to press his foot down, gripping the steering wheel so tight it could cut into his palms.

Kyle was sure he could smell the tyres and clutch burning as he came side by side with the van, catching sight of Anders behind the wheel and Folke in the passenger seat. Folke's chilling glare met Kyle's eye, but Kyle didn't freeze. Instead he wondered how this would all end? How long could this go on? Driving into the night with no discerning of the other's next move. Kyle hadn't thought of anything except pursuit, he hadn't thought of tactics or diversion. He may been through with playing dirty, knew it wound you up in situations like these - lives as collateral, the stakes high and rules obliterated like roadkill. But playing dirty was the only thing people like Folke understood, possibly the last thing they'd expect from a supposedly 'noble son of a bitch' like Kyle.

Heart racing in his chest as it tried to keep up with his mind's manic, veering train of thought, full to bursting with searing, forbidding adrenaline, Kyle gulped and devoured his last remaining shred of inhibition. Squeezing his eyes shut, he picked up speed and swerved, slingshotting his car into the opposite lane and skidding right in Folke's path. Kyle hunched his shoulders, cowered over the wheel, bracing for impact as he called Folke's bluff and put his life on the line.

_Once a martyr, always a fucking martyr-_

_but it's worth it for him._

Cartman flooded his mind, took a hold of his fear and for some galvanising, out-of-body moment, Kyle felt emboldened, and at peace. Instead of a van ramming into his car at ninety miles an hour, instead of crushing metal and shattered glass, he heard a screech crack through the night like a gunshot. It was the wheels of the van, and when Kyle looked up he saw it swerve away from the road, demolish the barrier, and careen down a pitch black knoll.

He exhaled, shaky, and sharp, and his breath was wet with tears. But he couldn't revel for too long, as approaching headlights reminded him of what kind of danger he was in, and with fingers that wouldn't stop trembling, he started the car again and managed to pull over. He sat for a while, shaking violently and unable to move. Shock pulsated through him in glowing, keening megawatts. As he rode out the electric, volatile adrenaline, Cartman soon emerged in his mind once more, and instead of filling him up with hope, and verve, and peace, he was filled with raw, prickling fear.

"Cartman..." he whispered, before tumbling out of the car.

He looked over the destroyed barrier, and saw the van overturned and still, glass twinkling in the grass like fallen stars. Nobody appeared to emerge from the crumpled vehicle, both a relief and a horror to Kyle. His breaths were coming harder, faster, tripling then quadrupling, and he pressed a hand to his stomach as if that would stop it from leaping into his throat. He climbed over the barrier, charging down the knoll.

"Cartman!" he yelled. "Cartman! Can you hear me?"

Kyle pressed his fingers to the EP in his ear, pleading with it to give him an answer. He never wanted to hear Cartman's voice more. Instead, he was given muffled and unintelligible noises, followed by squealing, distorted feedback before the EP's respondent device died-

_No, not died! Broke, malfunctioned... he can't be..._

Kyle shook his head, willed the thought out of his mind and kept moving, not thinking.

_"_ Cartman!"

Kyle hurried his footsteps but stumbled, falling into the balmy grass slippery with dew. He huffed, face down and sprawled on the ground, defeated and emptied. He began to sob, quivering in the middle of nowhere. But he wouldn't give up just yet. It couldn't end like this. He pulled himself up, aching, and exhausted, and sweating, and with his clothes dirtied. He knew he must have looked pitiful, pathetic, crazy. His tears obscured his unfamiliar surroundings into a dark, indistinguishable nothing.

" _Eric!_ " he cried, the name tearing open his throat. Ferocious, and mournful, and desperate.

He whimpered at the cruel silence, and brought his hands to his face as his body was wracked with sobs.

" _Kyle!_ "

That cruel, deliberate nick at his resolve that Folke had dealt earlier was ripped wide open by the sound of Cartman -  _Eric_  - calling his name. He lifted his head from his hands and saw Eric, bloodied and dishevelled, limping towards him. A sob escaped Kyle's mouth, and a grin spread across his face so wide that it ached. Laughter and sobs continued to pour uncontrollably out of his mouth, not even his palm could muffle the sound. He ran over to him, not wanting to waste another second being apart. Eric hurried along too, as best as he could.

They collided hard, holding each other up with shaking arms but a firm, sure clasp. They were pressed flush together, exchanging laboured, harried breaths. They swayed in their tight embrace, but Eric's fingers gripping Kyle's shirt, and Kyle's fingers tugging at Eric's drenched hair kept their balance. Kyle felt close to crumbling, and he knew Eric, trembling in his arms, could shatter too, but they were determined to keep standing. They sobbed quietly, to themselves, tears wetting skin and fabric already soaked with sweat or blood. Kyle didn't care about Eric's lashes wetting his skin, or his fingers pulling and stretching his shirt, if it meant never letting him go.

"You're okay..." Kyle murmured, voice thick with tears, into Eric's neck. He pulled back, hands moving to cup Eric's glistening face, marred by only a couple of cuts and bruises. He smiled at the sight in front of him, regardless. He sighed with tremors of relief, and closed his eyes. "Thank God you're okay..."

"Yeah..." Eric replied, voice wavering, a smile flickering there. "Yeah, I'm fine..."

When Kyle opened his eyes, that smile had vanished and cracks of regret were appearing on his face.

"Kyle, I'm so sorry-"

"No..." Kyle cut him off, shaking his head. He wouldn't let him take all the blame for this. Fresh tears stung his eyes. "No, I'm sorry-"

"If I had just dropped it like you wanted to, this wouldn't have happened! We-"

Before Kyle could comprehend it, he was pulling Eric towards him and cutting off his words with a sudden, hard kiss. Fuelled by shock, and delight, and impatience, it was over in a matter of seconds and when they parted, Kyle's mouth, mind, his whole body burned with the pressure, the disbelief, the embarrassment, and the  _pleasure_ that their lips unceremoniously crashing, fusing together with the force of their kiss, elicited. Eric's cheeks were hot in his quivering palms, his eyes wide and glinting as they searched Kyle's face for an answer.

"Um..." Kyle managed. "I-"

Eric didn't let Kyle finish, the answer not as important as his own response. A returning kiss, just as hard and eager. Kyle's spine straightened, surprised at the sudden contact, but as Eric's hot, plush lips clasped his own in earnest, letting Kyle in on the affection and yearning he had been harbouring for weeks,  _years_ , Kyle softened. He tilted his head, still cupping his face, and sampled Eric's kiss, strong, and sure, and  _wanting_  after stifling his feelings for weeks. Why be hesitant, reluctant, when there was so much to lose? When they were reunited? When he was crazy about someone for the first time in years, and the guy in question adored him, and cared for him too despite all his flaws and transgressions? Eric's hands had moved to Kyle's waist, fisting the material of his shirt, keeping them close.

They were panting when they parted, eyes lidded, and hot, glistening breaths were ghosting each other's flushed lips. Kyle's heart pounded, exhilarated but steady, and he revelled in this post-disaster, post-kiss, heady haze for as long as Eric's warm body pressed against his own, and smouldering golden eyes would let him. Until a fervent orange flame licked the air out of the corner of his eye. The van had caught fire, and the growing flames rumbled forebodingly.

Kyle reached for Eric's hand, giving him a tug to pull him back to Earth.

"We need to go..."

Eric nodded, his daze dissipating. Hand-in-hand they climbed up the hill. Kyle threw dreaded glances over his shoulder, praying nobody would emerge from the glowing carnage.

They fell into the stolen car, and Kyle drove into the night. He had no idea where he was going, but he didn't care. They were safe, and Eric was by his side.


	13. Afterglow

Blinking bleary eyes open, Eric was glad to wake up from a lighter sleep than before. He was still lethargic; exhausted, with a coarse, parched tongue, pangs of hunger gnawing at his stomach, and a jaw still throbbing from Folke's punch, but at least his slumber wasn't as debilitating. At least he was lucid... partly. Waking up swaddled in thin, starchy sheets was like water breaking through the dam of foggy shock and semi-consciousness. Memories flooded his mind. The terror of the van swerving off the road, his body thrown against walls and colliding with his adversaries; moving of its own accord as it broke free of the twisted limbs, and mangled metal, and how the cool, evening breeze was strong enough to knock him to the grass, and then  _Kyle_...

Chasing, and swerving, and running, and screaming, and holding and kissing.

Reckless, and brave, and crazy, and devoted, and loyal, and passionate.

Eric remembered stumbling up the knoll, being bundled into the car and watching the fire blossom out of the blackening wreck. He so desperately wanted to talk to Kyle, thank him, and tell him all the things he had been too dumb, and proud, and scared to say all these years, but the words wouldn't come out, and it hurt too much, and he needed to sleep. He remembered stirring, and Kyle still driving, wide, gleaming eyes fixed on the road. They pulled into a small town, lit only by the greying night. He remembered stumbling into a small Bed and Breakfast-

_So that explains the awful wallpaper._

And mumbling French to the old lady at the front desk when Kyle was struggling to communicate, shaken and drained. He remembered crashing onto the mattress, and Kyle lying beside him. His body was warm, his touches soothing and attentive, a remedy in itself to the vicious sting of antiseptic.

Those fingers were flying over a keyboard now, a gentle, persistent tapping. Eric slid his gaze to Kyle. He was sat up in bed and his face was lit by the glow of his laptop screen. They illuminated the shadows under his eyes, but even sleep-deprived and surrounded by gaudy floral wallpaper, Eric still thought he was beautiful.

"Hey..." he mumbled, hoarse.

Kyle blinked, jolted by the sudden break in his focus. But he turned to Eric and smiled, newly unabashed after last night's events. Despite the circumstance, Eric couldn't believe he was so lucky.

"Hi..." Kyle replied.

Eric shifted, tried to stretch and immediately regretted it. Every abused joint in his body creaked with complaint.

"Shit, are you alright?" Kyle asked, smile vanishing as he moved his laptop to the nightstand.

"Yeah... " Eric nodded, moving carefully. "Yeah, I'm just... aching a little."

Kyle nodded, peering at Eric closer. He would've been embarrassed, if Kyle's concern wasn't so obvious and endearing.

"Your face is looking a lot better," he commented. "Putting antiseptic on those cuts when you were half-asleep wasn't fun."

Eric chuckled, it smothered the urge to wince at all his childish grumbling when Kyle was tending to his injuries, especially when Kyle had been such a good patient for him - though that may have been the shock. It sobered him then, how in the space of a few weeks so much had changed, and yet so much was cyclical.

"Guess the tables have turned, huh?" he asked, grinning to lighten the mood.

Kyle snickered, and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I guess so..." he replied, soft and with a brittle sort of fondness. The afterglow to the carnage.

It only reminded Eric of everything Kyle had done, and it needled at his heart. There was pressure squeezing his throat, the precursor to tears.

"I can't believe you did that..." he whispered.

Kyle shrugged.

"It wasn't a big deal. They actually had a first aid kit under the sink in the bathroom-"

Eric shook his head.

"No, I mean... what you did... in the car..." It was impossible to describe. Eric wondered where his articulacy had gone, lost to his humility. "You could've  _died_ , Kyle-"

"Yeah?" Kyle asked, his voice hard and uncomfortably earnest.

Eric's eyebrows almost disappeared off his face. Surely no one could be this noble...

" _Yeah?_  well..." he huffed. "Weren't you terrified?"

"Of course I was. But..." Kyle sighed, as if it released all those discomfiting emotions. His shoulders drooped. "You were all I could think about. I would've done anything to get you away from them, to make sure you were safe..." he closed his eyes, and shook his head. When he opened them, he was smiling. " _Would_ do anything..."

Eric felt fingertips against his cheeks, spontaneous and considerate, for Kyle was careful not to touch any sore, irritated cuts and bruises. His cheek swelled beneath Kyle's fingers, a delighted grin. Their eyes met, and they hesitated, undaunted and affectionate when acting on impulse, hesitant and self-conscious when reminded of this unspoken shift in their relationship, brought on by adrenaline, and fear.

"So..." Eric said, needing to speak because he hated silence. Anything could be solved with the right words. He directed a nod at the nightstand. "What's with the laptop?"

"Oh, I was just booking a new flight to Pisa for this afternoon. Since we missed ours last night."

Eric nodded, he didn't know if he even wanted to let the next words out of his mouth. But the need for conversation overwhelmed the avoidance of an awkward subject.

"I thought you might have been trying to track Folke."

Kyle frowned, and Eric could see the mention of that bastard splinter his resolve and he hated himself for it.

"Yeah, I was a couple hours ago," Kyle replied with a sigh. "But he's nowhere. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing..."

Eric tried to think of an answer, if there even was one. How could he have ever thought he knew Folke? That he was so predictable? Maybe he was right, he had been spoiled for good, honest people lately. Well,  _person._

"You don't think he's... dead, do you?" Kyle asked, looking at Eric with a tiny, pleading crease in his brow.

Eric searched his brain for a clearer memory of that crash, but none would come. He sighed.

"Rolling down that knoll is all a blur. We were all just on top of each other. I had to wriggle out from under Klaus and Gunner, they were both out cold." One detail clutched his stomach, nauseating and chilling. "Anders went straight through the windshield, I remember that..."

Kyle frowned, that crease in his brow deepening, and his eyes roamed the sheets. It broke Eric's heart, and he wished he could siphon all that turmoil out of Kyle, and harbour it himself. His conscience was more pliable, his morality a little more weathered, he could live with the consequences of his destructive actions and rationalise it. Kyle couldn't, not anymore, and for all his frustration last night, Eric understood Kyle's desire to quit, even if he couldn't empathise.

He lifted his hand from the covers and placed it on Kyle's knee, giving him a squeeze. Kyle's forlorn gaze wandered to the fingers rubbing soothing circles on his skin, and smiled. He may not have been perfect, but Kyle was better than most, and it made Eric even crazier for him.

Eric sighed again, bracing himself to continue the conversation.

"But Folke... the fucker's like a cockroach in an apocalypse. He's hard to get rid of. You know he was in a coma for, like, three years?"

Kyle's eyebrows twitched.

"He was?"

"Yeah, some dude who fucked him over pushed him off a bridge. He had to use his cane after that, but still, pretty fucking hardcore."

"Did he ever get him back?"

"Knowing Folke? Most likely..."

Kyle nodded, absorbing the information, reluctant and grave.

"So what do we do now?"

"Keep running," Eric replied, oddly relieved. He would take the near future over dwelling on Folke's mysterious past. "Tuscany is still our best bet at a safe haven, and even though Folke's disappeared, we at least know for sure he's incapacitated. We need to take advantage of that, while we still have the upperhand."

"But he knew our names..." Kyle murmured.

Eric wished he hadn't remembered that.

"Yeah..." he nodded, his whole body felt prickly, as if sensing something invisible, ghostly.

Kyle sighed, irritated. He shook his head.

"I've always been so careful." He ran a hand over his face. "How the hell did he find that out?"

"He said he had sources of information, but he has more connections than anybody I've ever met," Eric replied, frustration ebbing and then flowing, when he remembered a far more pleasant utterance of his name. He began to smile. "You..."

Kyle blinked, waiting for Eric to continue. Eric's smile grew wider.

"Last night, you called me 'Eric'..."

Kyle's jaw quivered as he tried to form words, embarrassment rising as quickly as the colour on his cheeks.

"Oh... oh, yeah, I did, uhh... it just sort of came out," Kyle replied, giddy and smiling too, embarrassment forgotten. "You don't mind, do you?"

Hearing Folke say his name, weaponising it, and unearthing it from his past , made Eric want to never hear it again. Disavow it, abandon it, watch it burn away and die, because it tethered him to a life he had been estranged from, one that still left him open to vulnerabilities, attacks, and exploitation. But just as Kyle had saved his life with his noble, reckless action, he had revived his ruined name, deemed it worth saving, cherishing, rising like a phoenix from a burning van. Eric never wanted Kyle to stop saying it, he wanted to draw it from his lips over and over again.

Eric shook his head, cheeks hurting he was grinning so hard.

"No, I liked it."

Kyle chuckled, pleased with the answer.

"Good," he replied, leaning in a little closer. "Because I might wanna make a habit of it..."

Eric tried to return the chuckle, but it disintegrated into a warm, content hum. He bit his lip as his eyes wandered to Kyle's own plush pair, full, and parted, and remembered how he had kissed him; hot, and hard, not so much rousing him from his groggy state, but demanding he wake up and return the kiss just as fervently. Closer now, in a cramped bed, Kyle's mouth was alluring, teasing, and coy. Suddenly, Eric felt nervous. He gulped.

"Uhh... you think they're still serving breakfast?" he asked, chickening out.

Kyle nodded, dazed but not disappointed. The pressure was taut and weighty between them, neither knowing how to handle it.

"Yeah, um, I'm pretty sure the lady at the front desk said they're serving until ten. It's..." Kyle glanced at the clock on the wall. "Eight fifteen now?"

"Great," Eric replied, throwing the covers back. "I'm starving!"

Kyle simply rolled his eyes and snickered, watching Eric tentatively get out of bed.

* * *

After a tense breakfast under the glares of confused, and suspicious guests Kyle and Eric quickly checked out and headed back to Paris in the stolen car, returning to the apartment to collect their passports and luggage. Kyle cringed at their naive preparedness, the arrogance they both had that they could've pulled last night's counter-con off smoothly. He had underestimated Folke, and he wouldn't make that mistake again, not even when Eric's apartment was miraculously unscathed. Nothing taken, nothing violated or broken, and no unwanted visitors present when they opened the door, conniving and waiting. Kyle had steadied a relieved sigh, and choked on the sudden sadness that he may never set foot in this apartment again. The future seemed so uncertain with Eric as his only blessed constant, and this small sanctuary seemed no longer fit for purpose, as did their previous dynamic.

They were still in an awful limbo of acted upon, requited feelings and verbal confirmation yet to transpire. Their conversations were frequently and rapidly taking a turn for the flirtatious, and they indulged in lingering stares that Kyle hoped in vain would disperse the awkward, coy tension between them. He thought that Eric, confident, and demanding, who could talk his way out of anything, would've been able to broach this topic with ease, but for once he was actually  _shy_ , and Kyle found it endearing as well as jarring.

So for now, they were sparing with displays of affection, and while they were freshening up for their flight and packing last-minute items Kyle could tolerate it. But he didn't know how much longer he could hold out on addressing the issue, or acknowledging their desperate, impulsive kiss. He wished he could be as brave as he had been last night.

"So what do you do for fun in Tuscany?" Kyle asked, crouching down to tie his laces.

Eric shrugged.

"Relax? I only ever go there on vacation. The house is real secluded, but there's a town nearby with bars, and restaurants that serve the best pizza I've ever eaten."

Kyle laughed.

"Oh, I'm definitely gonna try that."

Eric grinned, nodding to himself as he daydreamed.

"I think you're gonna like it there. We've had fun here and all but it's also been crazy stressful and..." he studied the walls, as if looking for the encouragement he needed to say what he wanted. "I know there's still a lot to be scared of, but it'll be nice to chill out, somewhere quiet, and safe, and..."

Kyle stood up, only now realising that Eric hadn't finished his sentence, and that his gaze was still wandering the walls, a coy, barely contained smile on his face.

"What?"

"Romantic..." he murmured.

Kyle blinked, pleased and stunned. It quieted the sting of leaving a place he had grown so fond of, because as everything was shifting and changing, maybe they needed new surroundings, new views, new walls? But it felt disingenuous to leave here without acknowledging that evolution, to leave it without a bookend.

_Or maybe you just can't last a two hour flight, and however many hours in between without kissing him again._

"I guess we better head out, huh?" Eric asked, pulling at the handle of his suitcase.

Kyle nodded, grudgingly.

Tugging at the handle of his own pull-along, Kyle began to follow Eric to the door but soon realised he couldn't take another step. One of them had to act, damn it.

"Wait!"

"Yeah?" Eric asked, turning to look at Kyle. He stepped forward with knitted brows. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" Kyle snapped, nervous and cagey. He shook his head, dismissing his abrasive answer. "Nothing, I... I just..." he took a shaky breath, eyes wandering to Eric's mouth. "I-I-I just need to-"

He tugged at Eric's shirt and pulled him to his mouth before he let nerves get the better of him, like he had done last night when he was terrified, and hysterical, and knew how fucking lucky he was that they were both okay, and that he actually had the chance to kiss him. This kiss was just as firm, it thrummed with the same intention, but in the quiet of such a fond place, with their feelings out in the open, it was calmer, more tender, and lovely. For the first time, Kyle's tongue could part Eric's lips and not taste blood, or sweat, or the chill of adrenaline, but instead taste something sweet, and warm, and unfettered, his complete devotion. Kyle felt Eric's hands move to his waist and squeeze, while he looped his own arms around Eric's neck. They were smiling when they parted, mouths flushed and gleaming, their breaths glistening and galvanised.

Kyle gulped, still smiling.

"I've wanted to kiss you all day, it's just-"

Eric pressed his forehead to Kyle's and connected their lips again, hungry yet understanding.

"I know," he murmured, nodding. He sampled Kyle's lips once more. "I know..."

More sultry lip locks, torrid breaths, tiny smacks of lips, and brushing of tongues.

"You have no idea how fucking good this feels, Kyle," Eric murmured, ragged and earnest with a firmer press to Kyle's lips. "it's like, every kiss we have is better than the last..."

"Well, there's no adrenaline now," Kyle pointed out. "I mean, those kisses were great but this just feels..." he exhaled, unable to think with Eric's golden gaze, and flushed cheeks, and parted lips right in front of him. "So nice..." he decided on, and gave in once again.

"Is that what made you kiss me last night?" Eric asked, part flirty-part serious. "The adrenaline?"

Kyle considered his answer, despite delightful distractions.

"Maybe, but it wasn't the whole reason," he answered honestly. "I... was so terrified that I could lose you, that I would never see you again without telling you how I feel. I was just..." he moved one hand to the nape of Eric's neck, bringing him even closer. Their noses pressed together. His brows furrowed. "Fucking done hiding, you know?"

Eric nodded, their lips clasping again.

"And listen, um..." he lowered his gaze, before deciding he needed to look into Eric's eyes when he spoke. "I'm sorry about what I said last night, when I accused you of... only helping me because you missed your job." The guilt started to roar in Kyle's mind, and his voice became strained when he tried to overpower it. "You've done so much for me, and I was an asshole to even suggest that-"

"No, Kyle," Eric cut in, shaking his head and pleading for Kyle to reconsider his remorse. "I appreciate your apology, but you had every right to doubt me because I was being selfish. I was thinking of myself, when I should've been thinking about us." He lifted his hand to Kyle's cheek, and stroked him with his thumb. He smiled. "I promise I'll never put you in danger like that again."

Kyle pressed his lips together, as if it would keep tears at bay. He nodded.

"Well then, I promise to do the same," he replied, grinning despite the tears welling in his eyes.

Eric consoled him with a slow, caressing kiss. He brushed away any roaming tears with his thumb.

"Come on," he whispered when they parted, with a smile Kyle couldn't resist. "We've got a flight to catch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's off to Italy! Thank you so much for reading, and I'd love to know your thoughts!


	14. Living La Dolce Vita

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just putting a warning here that while this is a pretty fluffy chapter overall, in this chapter and the one after it there will be mentions/conversations of and about... uncomfortable... sexual experiences, and possible trauma surrounding that. I understand if this may be difficult to read for some people, so please tread carefully. As always, there will be nothing too detailed, mostly allusions to past events. Anyway, I hope you enjoy and I'd love to know your thoughts! Thank you for reading!

Driving through the Tuscan countryside, sun on his face, wind in his hair, and Eric behind the wheel of his gleaming red convertible, Kyle could've easily left thoughts of Folke stranded amongst the verdant waves of olive groves and vineyards. They had stayed in Pisa over night, in order for Eric to pick up his car from a garage in the city the next day. Surrounded by so many extravagant sports cars with their jagged edges and attention-seeking primary colours, Kyle couldn't help but make a joke about over-compensating. Eric simply scowled, playful and too endeared to Kyle to be offended, and pinched his arm. Kyle was yet to discover if his joke hid any real truth, because although they had proved insatiable with their kisses, their touches were chaste under the hotel sheets, searching and tentative. Kyle understood, the last 24 hours had been exhausting. He hoped the seclusion, and the heat, and the rumoured romance of Eric's country retreat would inspire them to consummate their fledgling relationship when the time was right.

The car slowed, making a considerate turn up a wide, sloped driveway. Pebbles crunched under the rubber as they approached a single storey villa built from sun-drenched stones. The house was shrouded by tall, slim trees, and the closed shutters made the house appear as though it were dozing, taking a nap in the sweltering, cloudless heat. It was quaint, and lovely, and beneath the distant chirping of birds and the buzzing of insects Kyle could detect no danger.

"Well?" Eric asked. The car had stopped running and the sound of the engine petered away. "Thoughts?"

"It's..." Kyle began to nod, before turning to Eric and beaming. "It's perfect..."

"I know," Eric replied, keeping his own enthusiasm at bay. "And you haven't even been inside yet!"

Kyle chuckled and rolled his eyes, unbuckling his seatbelt but Eric was already out of the car, opening the trunk to retrieve their luggage.

He helped Eric haul their cases inside, the front door opening to reveal a large terracotta-tiled open plan kitchen and living room. Kyle followed Eric through the small, central archway which then led into a similarly generous sized bedroom. Daylight jumped the ivy-strewn back wall and shone through the large sliding doors. Kyle was tempted to flop down on the bed, with its thick, soft duvet and plump throw cushions. But Eric insisted they drop the suitcases and go outside to admire the twinkling turquoise pool.

"Wanna take a dip?" Eric asked.

Even as the sun beat down on them, Kyle was in no rush to cool off.

"No thanks..."

"Why not?"

Kyle shrugged, arms folded.

"I'm just not into pools, that's all..."

Eric scoffed.

"Because of what happened at the water park when we were kids? That was years ago, Kyle!"

"That's easy for you to say! You weren't the one who had to-" he shook his head, as if could rattle the memory out of his skull. It took everything in him to suppress a shudder.

Eric made it easier though, when, with a mischievous grin and lidded eyes, he sidled up to him. His arm coiled around his waist like a lecherous, hungry snake, pressing their bodies flush.

"You've got a real hold on me, Broflovski..." His finger absent-mindedly trailed along Kyle's bottom lip like it was accidental, catching his breath. "I still wanna kiss those pretty lips of yours even when you're talking about drinking pi-"

Kyle removed Eric's hand from his face, weaving their fingers together.

"Too bad, because I'm not in the mood..." he replied, trying hard to be stern. He failed, soon smiling. "Though it is impressive how you manage to be gross and charming at the same time."

Eric grinned again, now smug and emboldened. He pulled at Kyle's fingers as he stooped, a typical pleading stance, one that he had no doubt perfected. He even had the creased, pained features of a desperate man.

"Oh come on, Kyle, there is no urine in that pool!" he whinged."I haven't swam in it in over a year and I... " his voice trailed off, considering a more palatable truth. "Hardly ever pee in it..."

Kyle snatched his hand away and folded his arms tightly once again, as if to shield himself from Eric's dangerous, seductive persuasion that had defeated so many.

"Now you're just gross..." he said, unable to stop smiling despite himself.

"Wait!" Eric said, eyes bright, and gait as bouncy as an excitable, eager puppy with a treat dangling in front of its face. "We'll compromise! I have an inflatable here somewhere, would you be willing to float around on that? You'll probably have to get a little wet, or a  _lot_  wet if you get in before I cannon ball in there-"

"Why can't I just sit on the side?" Kyle asked, irritable.

Eric wasn't deterred, he arched a knowing eyebrow and rolled his eyes when Kyle didn't immediately discern his motivations.

"Because I wanna see you half-naked, duh..."

Kyle rolled his eyes and repositioned his tightly-crossed arms but couldn't help but bristle at Eric's words, flirtatious, and unabashed, teeming with pleasant, electric friction. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop a delighted smile spreading across his face at the fantasy of Eric's intentions, these coy, earnest promises. Besides, it was nice to be  _wanted_ , and not in a criminal sense. Kyle hadn't been wanted, or wanting, in such a long time.

Eric huffed, growing impatient.

"Come on, Kyle!" he whined. "Please?" He moved closer, slow and hypnotic with his chin lowered.

He smiled, drawing a chuckle from Kyle's lips and summoning his hands. Suddenly, Kyle was unwrapping his arms from around his chest and extending his hands for Eric to take. Eric was skilful and gentle at handling his own thrall, and Kyle wondered if this was how his marks felt when he was playing them - captivated, trusting, with no control whatsoever. No wonder they all fell for him, every single time. Kyle knew he was falling in more ways than one.

Eric's fingers brushed against Kyle's, slow and indulgent. His thumbs pressed into Kyle's knuckles, caressing them before he grasped his hands with small, but firm pressure. Kyle gulped, never did he think he would be so enthralled by somebody holding his hands.

"For me?" Eric asked, head bowed so his gaze had to reach up to meet Kyle's, granting him illusory power.

But Kyle was too distracted by his mouth. He punctuated the question by sinking a tooth into his plump, pink lower lip and Kyle longed to do the same.

Kyle exhaled, and tried to mask it as an exasperated sigh.

"Fine..." he looked into Eric's pleased eyes and pretended to be serious. "But only after you've done your thing and the ripples have subsided."

Eric grinned, revelling in his inevitable victory.

* * *

To Kyle's surprise, he was actually enjoying floating around the pool, stretched on a gaudy pink inflatable, his skin glistening only with sweat, at the sun's mercy. As promised, Kyle had waited until the water had stopped rocking from the force of Eric's almighty splash to get in the pool. Although, when Eric emerged from the water with his hair dripping, his grin inviting, and his trunks adorable as hell, Kyle could feel himself growing antsy with the wait. Another symptom to his growing feelings, he supposed, a craving to be closer and closer to Eric. Clearly, Eric was just as eager as he watched Kyle strip down to his boxers. Kyle earned an approving wolf-whistle when he kicked his jeans from his ankles.

Once Kyle had negotiated the proper weight he needed to put on the inflatable, and had made a wandering round of the pool's perimeter, he started to relax. He and Eric chatted, and teased, and flirted, and Kyle was quite happy for Eric to splash around him if it meant he wasn't submerged. In fact, the wandering, lazy laps of the pool and the stifling sun was having a sedative affect, making him drowsy. He flung one arm over his eyes to shield them from the sun, while his fingers quite contently skimmed the water.

His eyes had helplessly slipped shut, and he could feel himself drifting into slumber before cool, chlorine water hit his face.

"Hey!" he snapped, removing his arm from his dripping face to find Eric wading next to him, shoulders thrumming with laughter.

"I told you, Kyle, the water's clean!"

Kyle huffed, narrowing his eyes at him.

"I thought we had a deal..."

Eric shrugged.

"Yeah, we did, but this is just an... initiation." He grinned. "I'm getting you into the water, one way or another."

Kyle scoffed this time, unable to stop his smile.

"I'd like to see you try..." he replied, and regretted it immediately. Of course Eric couldn't resist a challenge...

He paddled to the other end of the inflatable, and between his feet Kyle could see Eric's mischievous smile, his wet hair just above his eyebrows making him appear more wicked, almost menacing.

"Eric, what are you..."

Eric didn't reply, eyebrows arched as if his intentions were obvious, exactly what Kyle was dreading.

"Don't you fucking dare!" Kyle warned, in a last ditch attempt to save himself.

Eric grabbed the corners of the inflatable and pressed his weight on it, tipping it upwards. Kyle tried to cling to it, but his body was already peeling from the sticky surface with grating, squeaky groans of protest.

"No!" Kyle yelled. "No, you asshole!"

With a yelp, Kyle slid into the water and into Eric's arms. They collided hard, the water lapping at them, and Kyle was laughing before he could stop it, looping his arms around Eric's neck, securing their embrace. He didn't care that he was in the water, he didn't care that he was soaked, because connecting with Eric, warm and tactile, felt too good to complain about.

Their kisses were hot and firm, but beneath the dazzling blue their movements felt endearingly clumsy, heavy, as though operating in slow-motion. But when this was the first time bare skin was meeting, brushing, rubbing together the water provided an invigorating partition. Kyle's fingers unclasped, free to wander, and stroke, and squeeze. He fingered the wet, chestnut locks at the nape of Eric's neck, and roamed his wide, heaving chest, undeterred by the slippery traction.

Growing needy, they kissed indulgently, open-mouthed, flushed tongues earnest in their quest to make each other melt, breaths balmy and strained with the smallest moans. With a tiny huff, Eric hitched Kyle up, their lips separating with a hearty smack. Kyle's cotton underwear was tight and heavy, too drenched to hide anything, and he buried his fingers into Eric's soft shoulder when his burgeoning erection brushed against his belly. His heart fluttered, exhilarated as Eric tilted his head to place slow, sultry kisses on his neck. He had never kissed him there before. Choking on a gasp, Kyle tipped his head back in surrender, pleading for more. Eric gladly complied; kissing, sucking and nipping, and nuzzling Kyle's neck with his velvet lips and button nose.

Eric had reached Kyle's collarbone when he murmured: "I think we should-"

_Fuck?_

Maybe not in the pool, as Kyle still had his hang-ups, but he would settle for the patio; writhing on searing stone, bodies gleaming with sweat and chlorine, dripping on each other like melting gelato, framed by the sun's golden, needling rays.

"...Go on a date," Eric continued. He had lifted his head in order to reach Kyle's eyes. His smile was so unassuming and heartening that it pulled Kyle out of his lusty haze. "You know, to make this official. We could dress up and head into town, and you could try the best pizza ever?"

Kyle blinked, a tad disappointed that Eric wanted to wine and dine him rather than anything else, but his reigning reaction was of absolute astonishment and delight that Eric  _did_  want to take him out, and treat him, and just be  _romantic_. As his arousal ebbed, Kyle realised he wanted that too, more than anything.

"What do you say?" Eric asked, still smiling, still enthusiastic, but Kyle could see the insecurity brim in his eyes with his - as of yet - unaccepted proposal.

Kyle beamed, nodding. He cupped Eric's face with both hands.

"I'd love to," he whispered, bringing Eric's lips to his once more.

* * *

The sun was setting, bleeding a peach sky and Eric and Kyle still hadn't left for their date. Eric wasn't too concerned, the town was small and quiet, and he was a treasured regular at the restaurant he planned to take Kyle, they were sure to secure a table. Yes, he could've taken Kyle somewhere different, somewhere new, a place that had perhaps opened during his time away from here. But  _Esposito's_  was familiar, a fond, comforting place that Eric returned to time and time again. Even if sentimentality was something he thought he had abandoned a long time ago, something that wasn't conducive to a successful, solitary life, he found old habits hard to give up - like returning to small towns, and delicious pizzas, and stubborn, impassioned redheads.

It took everything in him to pull away from Kyle's lips in the pool, when all that he had wanted for as long as he could remember was hot, and wet, and startlingly keen in his arms, kissing and groping him with steadfast fingers, flushed cheeks, and ragged breaths. It would've been so easy to give in, to rush and chase that release that had always stirred within him but was roaring ever since he shook Kyle's hand in St Tropez, begging to be sated. For all he played at poise, and strength, and cool to convince everyone around him - including himself - he knew he was weak-willed, and impulsive. Why savour when you could gorge? Why float when you could dive straight in? In his life rid of connection but bursting with possibilities, Eric could fill that lack with whatever the fuck made him happy, no matter the expiration date of that particular contentment he was searching for. Kyle, as always, was different. He wanted him, of course, so much it terrified him, more than anybody he had ever been with. Although perhaps it was unfair to position Kyle on the same metric as the diluted, disingenuous desire he felt for temporary distractions, redheaded facsimiles, and even marks who fucked first and asked questions later.

Eric wasn't unfamiliar with putting out for a job. In fact, when he was initiated into Folke's gang, one of his first gigs was to infiltrate the property of a millionaire businessman who fucked guys young enough to be his grandson while his wife was out of town. All in the name of insider trading, of course. There was word that he didn't just keep secrets from his spouse, and that the computer in his study was as pathetically susceptible to the advances of charming strangers as he was. Eric had left his mark to snore while he padded down the hallway and into his office, pants still undone, shirt creased, sultry, whiskey soaked breath still seared into his neck, and still trying to ignore a sore, uncomfortable ache. The act itself had been quick, and rough, and awkward, and Eric had to encourage himself to feel something with his practiced, embellished moans that were just as much for his benefit as that of the guy on top of him. His mind had soon wandered to secret, treasured places, where he always sought refuge on lonely nights. He thought of Kyle, his adorable scowl, his peerless grin, his blue-green eyes that offered him all the attention he ever craved in one glare alone, and how his ass looked in his basketball shorts, and came with a mournful shout. Tears clouded his eyes and refused to fall as he sat in that dark room with a glowing computer, downloading all the information he needed onto a USB and sneaking out the back door.

He had consoled himself with new clothes, a new phone, decadent lunches and stays in palatial suites, all the while wondering if this really was a reliable estimate of the value of his sexuality. Since childhood his cunning, his pouts, his lethal talent for manipulation had reaped fantastic awards, but he was unsure if this potent new weapon in his arsenal was one he should readily deploy. It was still all so alien to him. A few months previously he was losing his virginity to some wasted sophomore in a dorm room during a party where he didn't know anyone, and then he was having his drinks bought for him by a powerful, lecherous man and hoping the gentle, encouraging grip on his knee was enough to want to take him home. The art of seduction was the only one Eric was unsure he was truly qualified for. He couldn't quite work out how to steel himself against the raw, prickly discomfort that lingered for days afterwards, that instinct to flinch when an unwelcome hand roamed his thigh.

It was then he decided to conceal that particular weapon in his back pocket for extreme circumstances, when anything else just wouldn't cut it. Not that it would ever need to happen, Eric told himself. He was too good for that, too quick, too clever. Too fragile, too scared, too  _squeamish_. It was easier to flirt, like he did with Andy in Amsterdam. It was a fucking cakewalk to make an average man with grandiose delusions feel special and wanted, it was simple to laugh, and stroke, and grin, and imply, all the while having your drinks for free and your ego given a little boost in the process. Eric deceived for a living, he knew how to hide a grimace when a mark wasn't looking.

He only ever had sex now when he was bored, or lonely and needed to get out of his hotel room and out of his head, or when somebody reminded him enough of Kyle. Eric could settle for subpar conversation, a duller edge, if the aesthetics were right. Eric knew you only had sex for what you could gain from it. Release, control, money, offspring! There was little need for connection. Sure, you needed initial attraction, a mutual craving, someone who at least ticked the 'physical' box on your checklist of the perfect partner because if that's all you want, why not be up front? Why not go for the incompatible, the unsustainable? Sex wasn't so much about the passionate, holistic heat of a brilliant moment, but what you were left with afterwards. Relief, a craving sated, no matter how temporarily.

It was all Eric had ever known, and beneath his ferocious, unwavering, almost debilitating attraction to Kyle he feared his experiences would tarnish what they were yet to share. He tried to bury his fear, console himself with the constant truth that Kyle would always be the brilliant exception to all the rules life had taught him. He knew it would be different because of how long he had waited, and hoped, and dreamed, and fantasised about their consummation, and how in his most desperate, loneliest moments he would try to recreate that rapturous, incomparable union with auburn-haired flings from Paris to Prague.

He knew it would be different because of how Kyle looked at him. Eric could see it, piercing and bright, now the veil of doubt had been lifted. He looked at him with all the fondness, and contentment, and  _trust_  in the world. He knew with every touch and kiss and breath and word that was full of earnest conviction. He knew it would be different because of everything Kyle had done for him, to protect him and keep them together, because after all these years Kyle had never, ever faltered. He knew because what they shared was more precious than any diamond, any secret information, any painting, and just as rare to stumble upon.

He knew it would be different because when he stole that pack of condoms and lube from the drug store in Pisa, it was the first time his hands had shaken in years of shoplifting. Trembling with the weight of that incredible, fantastic inevitability, that unspoken certainty that he was going to go all the way with Kyle, and all the promise and dread it inspired. But it was a gamble Eric had to take.

The sound of anticipated footsteps pulled Eric away from his thoughts, and they were all soon directed to the sight of Kyle wearing that gorgeous blue suit. His mouth opened of its own accord, suddenly heavy. Cologne stinging Eric's nose as sweetly as a lovebite, Kyle's hair styled so perfectly he wanted to run his fingers through it, and sharp lines, and elegant, alabaster wrists, and shining eyes, and beautiful smile, all for him was humbling enough to make him cry. His nose burned now, his vision growing misty and making Kyle appear even dreamier. For so long Eric had taken what he wanted, bought it, stolen it, stomped his feet and cried for it. Now, Kyle was giving him everything he had ever dreamed of, yearned for, could have only ever hoped for, and all Eric had to be was himself.

Kyle swallowed. Eric watched his Adam's apple rise and fall in his strong, slender throat. He fixed the sleeves of his jacket.

"I know it's a bit much but..." Kyle smiled at him. "It's a special occasion, right? Our first official date..." he shook his head, fiddled with his sleeves again, misreading Eric's dumbfounded silence completely. "But if it's too much, I'll change-"

"No!" Eric interjected, he hoped in assurance. "No, God, Kyle, you look..."

He raked his gaze over Kyle for inspiration. He wanted any excuse to.

"So fucking handsome..." he decided on, closing the gap between him and Kyle.

Kyle flushed, and grinned.

"Come on," he replied. Eric's flattery had fuelled his confidence and he extended his hand for Eric to hold. "Take me out to dinner already."

* * *

_Esposito_ 's was as cosy and lively as ever. Music played, and delicious meals floated past on trays with gorgeous, beckoning scents lingering behind. Families chatted and raised toasts, friends laughed, and lovers huddled close, and hand-in-hand with Kyle, Eric felt like he was ingratiating himself into the folds of community, companionship, and devotion. No longer observing with niggling insecurity, or ignoring them to quash such discomfort, he could spend an evening with Kyle and let the world melt around them like the tall candles dripping wax on every table. His moral and ethical inadequacies were irrelevant, and even if they were common knowledge to every patron he wouldn't care because the only person who mattered had chosen him regardless, and that faith only inspired him to be better.

Yet, Eric was never totally alone here. He had dined alone here so much that the staff always made conversation with him. Perhaps they pitied him, but Eric didn't mind entertaining them with elaborate, fabulous make-believe if it meant extra servings. Besides, he always made sure to tip big. No wonder they were always so happy to see him...

One of the waiters, Marco, emerged from behind the bar, grin almost as wide as his outstretched arms.

"Mitch! E bello vedriti!"

"Anche per me e bello vedriti!" Eric replied, offering a handshake but unsurprised to be pulled into a one-armed hug.

He clapped Eric's arm, still beaming, before Kyle caught his eye beside him.

"Chi e il tuo ospite?"

It was Eric's turn to beam, he couldn't help but show off.

"Marco, this is Kyle."

"Nice to meet you, Marco," Kyle said, extending his hand for Marco to shake.

"It is a pleasure to meet you too..." Marco replied, shaking his hand vigorously. He then turned to Eric. "Would you like your usual table?"

"Si." Eric nodded.

"Seguimi in questo modo per favore..."

Marco grabbed two menus and Eric and Kyle followed him to a corner table, dimly lit on purpose because Eric liked to be able to hide sometimes, conceal himself, but now he considered it rather romantic, intimate. They took their seats, were handed their menus and informed of the specials, and left to it. Their first date, and Eric had never felt so anxious and peaceful all at once.

"So I guess you come here often?" Kyle asked, lifting his gaze from the menu.

Eric laughed, actually coy.

"It's the best restaurant in town! And believe me, I've tried them all."

"They seem to really like you..." Kyle added, as soft as clinking cutlery.

"I'm a charming, foreign stranger of course they're gonna love me!"

Kyle chuckled and rolled his eyes, setting his menu aside for a moment and placing his elbows on the table.

"What did you tell them you do?"

"I have a high pressure job on Wall Street and that I come here every summer to relax, and detox, and get away from it all."

"Yeah, well, I'm not sure eating copious amounts of pizza is part of most detox regiments..." Kyle lowered his head to hide his smile, pretending to read the menu again.

Eric grinned to himself, because it was too fucking adorable.

"This is real exciting for them," he added. "It's the first time I'm bringing a date here..."

Kyle looked up, blinking as if it would erase the surprise in his gaze. It wasn't working.

"Really?"

Eric nodded matter-of-factly. Shouldn't that have been obvious?

"You've never come here with anybody else?" Kyle asked, eyebrows drawing together.

"Who would I bring here? Folke and his morons?"

Kyle scoffed, shaking his head.

"You know what I mean!" he replied, before he became timid. "Guys that you like..."

Eric shrugged.

"I don't like a lot of guys. Not enough to take on vacation, anyway..."

"I'm sure there's plenty of hot guys here."

Eric arched an eyebrow, mouth forming into a half-smirk.

Kyle smirked too.

"Not that I want to give you any  _ideas-_ "

"Well, I'm hardly going to pick up a cute redhead at the grocery store here, am I?"

Kyle blinked again, more sudden as if he wasn't expecting the compliment/revelation. His hand fidgeted on the table, his jaw quivered.

"Redheads?" he asked, trying to be innocent.

Eric tilted his head a little, as if on a slight angle he could easily see through Kyle's already transparent 'obliviousness.'

"Don't play dumb, Kyle." he replied. "I've had a crush on you for as long as I can remember, it's no surprise I have a type."

Kyle's mouth opened with a rebuttal, a remark but he was interrupted by Marco with a small notepad in hand.

"Can I get you anything to drink?"

Eric glanced at Kyle, and remembered just how significant this night was. And even if he knew it was unnecessary, he wanted to make a gesture.

"Some champagne, per favore?" he asked, and it was difficult to contain the joy in his voice.

Marco smiled, eyes bright and brows raised as he jotted down the order gladly.

"Is it a special night?" he asked, glancing between the two of them.

"Yes." Kyle nodded, answering for them. He grinned at Eric from across the table, and it was enough to embolden him. "Definitely."

"Then I will be sure to bring you our finest bottle..." Marco promised, before he left them to it once again.

"Grazie, Marco..."

Before they could return to their previous conversation, they were distracted by a family seated two tables away. A birthday party, shining, crinkled balloons bobbed, tethered to a chair and towering above the little girl who was waiting impatiently for her family's rendition of 'Happy Birthday' to end so she could dig into her sundae, melting already under the heat of an energetic sparkler. Eric smiled to himself, thinking of how he probably would've finished that sundae by now. Fuck pleasantries and waiting. But when he turned his attention back to Kyle, he noticed he was still transfixed on the pleasant, familial scene. He shook his head, chuckled.

"Damn, you really have got baby fever..." Eric commented.

"Huh?" Kyle asked, attention slowly returning to Eric. "Shit, sorry..."

"Dude, it's okay, really-"

"No, that was rude." Kyle shook his head. "Besides, I know you don't like kids so-"

"It's not that I don't  _like_  kids, I just..."

"What?"

And Eric didn't even know how to answer. That was a first. He never thought about family much, a hypothetical, future family or his own. It was nothing he had prioritised, or dreamed of. He didn't really think twice when he lied to his mom about his whereabouts or his activities, and he didn't feel too bad about the fact she never occupied his thoughts even now. He knew Kyle still thought about his family, was actually noble enough to sacrifice any sort of relationship with them to ensure they were shielded from the ugly, terrifying realities of their world. Keep them at a distance to keep them safe. And he knew Kyle wanted a family of his own one day, was the inspiration for leaving this life behind him. He wanted it so desperately he would risk his own life to seize that chance. Eric had been thinking of the value of family since then, if he could ever see the worth Kyle saw, if he could make it work, if he had Kyle by his side. Right now, with their narrow, miraculous escape from Folke a not so distant memory, and their whole future a heady, celestial path that could reach dizzying heights, Eric felt invincible. Like he could achieve anything with Kyle by his side.

"Don't know if I want to have any..." Eric replied, careful.

The corners of Kyle's mouth started to pique upwards, but he smothered his smile. It still brimmed in his eyes, delighted and glimmering.

"Back in Paris you seemed pretty sure that a family wasn't for you..."

"Well, we've both almost died since then, and that kind of shit changes your perspective a little."

"So you've gone from being dead set against having a family to actually considering the possibility?"

Eric nodded, eyes wandering the walls as he considered his answer.

"You could say that..."

Kyle rolled his eyes to the ceiling, shaking his head.

"That's such a typical grifter response," he said, smiling now.

Eric grinned.

"You asked a typically 'Kyle' question."

Kyle chuckled, exasperated before he seemed to remember himself. He shook his head and shifted in his seat.

"But you're right." He added, struggling to meet Eric's eyes. "It's way too soon to be talking about this kind of stuff. Hell, we don't know what's gonna happen a week from now... n-n-not that I don't want this to last!" he exclaimed, eyes wide and face pinking. "God, I do, I really do. I just meant that... " he sighed, as though to gather his thoughts, rein them in He closed his eyes. "Life just seems more uncertain than ever and I don't want to put any pressure on this..." he opened his eyes then, gaze landing on the table before he looked up at Eric and smiled. He reached across to clasp his fingers. "Or waste my time being vague about what I want..."

Eric squeezed his hand, as if could wring all the doubt and reluctance out of him.

"What do you want?" he asked, part-encouraging, part-curious.

Kyle exhaled, gazing at their intertwined hands. He stroked the top of Eric's hand with his thumb.

"You," he replied. The word was simple and small, but he exhaled again, shakier now, as if held all of his strength. He met Eric's gaze and smiled, tight and crinkled, his eyes glimmering. "All of you, everything. I'd... I would've chased Folke to the end of the fucking Earth if it meant keeping you with me."

It was the second time in under ten minutes that Eric was left completely clueless as to what he could say. Even if he knew how to answer, his throat was constricted by the hard, clamping pressure of his heart. His nose stung, and he was sure to cry. Kyle was already growing misty in his vision. But he was saved from tears by Marco, approaching their table and pouring their champagne.

"Thank you..." Kyle nodded, with a small, distracted smile.

"Si, grazie..." Eric replied, voice quiet and strained.

Once they were alone, they raised their glasses to each other, just like Eric had seen so many people doing, watching from this very table. And although he knew and believed that he and Kyle were so very special to have found each other through fate, and horror, and criminality, Eric realised they were one and the same as everybody in that restaurant. Friends, now lovers, and maybe one day, if they were lucky enough, a family.


	15. On Our Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may remember from the last chapter, there will be mentions/conversations in this chapter around sexual experiences that may be uncomfortable for some people to read. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thank you for reading and I'd love to hear your thoughts!

It had been a wonderful evening, fun and unremarkable in its magnificent ordinariness. Eric never looked over his shoulder, didn't let his thoughts drift away from  _Esposito's,_  the town, Kyle's smiling, calm face. It was everything Eric had observed in TV, and movies, real life at a distance, where actual romance happened, but never expected for himself, never even knew he wanted. And speaking of wanting... Eric had sipped enough champagne in the hopes of rousing some Dutch courage, and it was easy to not think about returning home, and what could possibly transpire when they got there. It was easier to eat his favourite pizza, to laugh, and flirt, and smile giddily to himself when Kyle's hand found this as they left the restaurant, weaving their fingers together. It was easier to focus more on the fact that Kyle had been unable to  _finish_ the best pizza ever, and had chosen to bring it home in a doggy bag.

"I still can't believe you didn't finish your pizza!" he said, incredulous as they entered the house. He switched the lights on to reveal Kyle glancing at him over his shoulder with an arched, exasperated eyebrow. "Who the hell am I even dating-"

"It was huge!" Kyle argued, turning to face Eric now. "I told you we should've shared!"

Eric shook his head, pretending to be serious.

"Oh no, I don't share food," he replied, beginning to close the gap between he and Kyle. "Especially an  _Esposito's_ pizza."

"So you wouldn't be mad if I ate this all to myself tomorrow?"

Eric clutched Kyle's sides and pulled him closer. Kyle didn't waver, still waiting for his answer with a small smile, and a patient, unyielding,  _tempting_  stare.

"Nope." Eric grinned. "I'd totally get it."

Kyle rolled his eyes, shaking his head and his body thrummed with laughter in Eric's lax embrace.

"You're so full of shit..." he grinned in return, soft and fond.

He pinched Eric's arm, and the sudden contact seemed to jolt them like static shock, sending them both to start laughing gently even though neither seemed to know what was so funny. Their gazes soon wandered to their mouths, quieting them but silently strengthening their pull until their lips met, hard at first but melting helplessly, aided by soft lips and soothing tongues. How could Eric ever be afraid of this? He squeezed Kyle, encouraging and pleading because he never wanted to relinquish this contented, safe feeling. He was rewarded by Kyle's own hands on him, the doggy bag falling to the floor.

"Your pizza..." Eric murmured, in the tiny, humid space between their mouths.

Kyle shook his head, palms pressing into his arms and fingers gripping him tight.

"I don't care..." he replied, ragged.

Eric's surprised chuckle was muffled by Kyle's mouth connecting with his again, relentless and eager. It was difficult to keep up, difficult to match Kyle's ferocity, his desire stoked in the pool earlier that day clearly hadn't waned, but had merely been steeping in flirtatious conversation, brief, coy touches, and tension. Eric soon found himself pushed up against the wall, led by Kyle's roaming hands and determined, open-mouthed kiss. Eric huffed, small and surprised, the noise soon unfurling into a pleased gasp as Kyle released his flushed, burning lips to wander his neck. He hazily recalled doing the same thing to Kyle in the pool, the sultry traction of his skin against his tongue, the salt-sweat taste, the flutter of Kyle's hitched breaths, and closed his eyes, tipping his head back and gladly letting Kyle return the favour.

So enraptured was he in Kyle's ardent kisses at his neck, teeth at his flesh, nose nuzzling his throat that he didn't realise his hands had wandered down his arms, over his heaving chest and to his waist. He felt trembling, hasty fingers at his zipper, and that fear he had been trying so hard to temper all night lurched inside him.

"Wait..." he said, lost in lush, panting breaths. "Wait, hold on..."

Despite the warmth of their feverish, compact embrace Eric froze, terrified, and the only movement he could stir from the spreading paralysis was to push Kyle's hand away, clumsy and skittish.

Kyle immediately surrendered at the slightest jolt of resistance. Eric was thankful for that, knew that he wouldn't be so lucky with anyone else. It didn't make him feel better though, when Kyle's eyes were shining with shame and concern.

"What is it?" Kyle asked.

Eric swallowed hard, trying to shift the boulder of anxiety in his throat.

"N-n-nothing, I... um..." he panted as he tried to think of a way to explain himself that didn't make him look like a paranoid wreck. "Don't you think this is a little soon?"

"Huh?"

"It just feels like we're rushing..." Eric replied, grimacing because he knew he could sound more convincing. "Doesn't it?"

The crease in Kyle's brow deepened, as if he was unsure that was a question he was meant to answer. But since it was Kyle, Eric knew he would try his hardest to.

"Oh..." he whispered, frowning. "Oh, well, uh, I don't think so..."

Eric sighed, hanging his head. Kyle was still holding him, even when he started to tremble.

"I mean, we only made this official yesterday," he pointed out.

"Sure, but this isn't exactly  _new_ , right?" Kyle replied, giving Eric a gentle, persuasive squeeze. "We  _have_ known each other our whole lives." He smiled. "Doesn't feel like rushing to me..."

Kyle leaned in again, head tilted and eyes lidded. It was an alluring, gorgeous sight that Eric should have yielded to,  _had_  yielded to, but despite the security, the longing, the semi still in his pants he recoiled. He turned his head, squeezing his eyes shut at the guilt and frustration, stinging like a slap to his cheek.

He could feel Kyle pulling back, his once assured grip loosening. Eric wanted to tell him not to let go, but he couldn't find the words.

"Are you okay?" Kyle asked, as gentle and open an invitation to reveal all as Eric could have hoped for.

But instead he seized, inhaling anger sharply through his nose.

"Yes!" he snapped, and instantly felt awful.

He turned his head to Kyle again, and saw his chin lowered, frowning and uncertain, searching the floor for answers.

"Eric, we don't have to do anything you don't want to," he said, looking into Eric's eyes to show him he meant it. "There's no pressure-"

Eric huffed, the frustration was smothering.

"I know!" he rolled his eyes to the ceiling and frowned. He lowered his head. "Sorry, I know, I... I-I don't-"

"Hey..."

Eric looked up, meeting Kyle's eyes when he felt his hand at his cheek. He was smiling sadly at him, but patient still.

"It's been a crazy couple of days, we've had a wonderful night... why don't we just get some sleep?"

Eric nodded, shoulders dropping like Kyle had let this agonising subject. His smile tightened, and Eric felt both lucky and undeserving. He watched Kyle walk away, heading to the bedroom, and knew how restless he would be.

"Actually... "

Kyle stopped, turned his body halfway.

"I think I'll sit by the pool for a bit," Eric said. "Get some fresh air."

Kyle nodded slowly.

"Okay... do you want me to come with you?"

"No..." Eric sighed, shaking his head. "No, it's okay, Kyle, really." He smiled. "Get some sleep."

Kyle gave him one last smile, before disappearing into the bedroom.

* * *

It had been nearly an hour and Eric still hadn't come to bed. Kyle tried not to dwell, resisting the urge to climb out of bed and peak through the curtains, or step outside because Eric wanted space, and after spending so much time in each other's company, a little solitude was perhaps needed. But that empty space was like an abyss beside him, inviting him to stare into it and conjure dreadful, castigating introspection from the void. He wanted to fall asleep if only to wake up with Eric by his side, as if his reluctance and discomfort was all just a dream Kyle could discard. Maybe they had been spending too much time together if the absence of Eric's body heat, his gentle snoring, his face just an accidental brush of fingers away was enough to make Kyle antsy. But it wasn't just growing attachment that was making him ache, it was guilt too. They had a lovely day together, an amazing night, and Kyle had to ruin it by misreading the signs in a sort of communication he was admittedly out of practice in, and letting arousal get the better of him.

His punishment was Eric recoiling from him, trying to disguise his shame that Kyle knew wasn't his to bear. He had nothing to be ashamed of, and Kyle wanted to tell him that. He wanted to tell him that he had nothing to be afraid of, that he would never hurt him. Why was he lying in bed waiting for Eric to come to him, when he could go to Eric himself with those reassurances? Because this was about more than simply not being in the mood, that was something that didn't prompt further questioning. But Eric was hurting, and Kyle had to figure out how to soothe it.

Throwing back the covers, Kyle got out of bed and padded towards the French windows. He pulled the curtains back to reveal Eric sat by the pool, shoulders hunched and his gaze on the shimmering reflection of the moon above. Kyle took a small, fortifying breath before sliding the doors open as quietly as he could. It was chilly outside, and the undulating landscape was hidden under a thick blanket of darkness, the humble, ambient lights of the town unable to reach across the hills and groves. But the sky was illuminated by stars, glittering with frail clusters that resembled hasty erasings on a chalkboard. Kyle smiled, folded his arms around himself and rubbed at his shoulders to rouse some warmth. Eric hadn't acknowledged him, submerged in thought like his feet were in the water, his pants rolled up to his knees.

"Hey..." Kyle said, in an attempt to crack the shell of silence.

It may have been as inconsequential as the rustle of the flora, or the musical cicadas, but Eric turned his head. His gaze was forlorn, Kyle wondered if he had been crying.

"Hi..." he murmured. "What are you doing out here?"

Kyle shrugged, hoping to be nonchalant.

"Couldn't sleep," he said, as he slowly approached him. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Eric nodded.

"Yeah, I'm fine..."

Kyle sat down next to him, and didn't think as he dipped his feet into the pool. He didn't even flinch at the brief, shocking cold. Eric blinked at the sight, his eyes widening just so, and it emboldened Kyle. He hoped it would signal that he was prepared for whatever Eric had to say, that he wanted to listen, an invitation he hoped Eric would take. He placed his hand on top of his.

"Eric..."

Their eyes met, and Eric had never looked so guileless, so vulnerable. It was disarming, and it stole Kyle's breath a little. He realised then that this was Eric revealing himself slowly, the parts of himself that for so long he had needed to keep hidden. It was a humbling responsibility, but one Kyle knew he would try his hardest to deserve. He supposed that started with his own honest admission. He sighed.

"I'm so sorry for getting carried away earlier. I... I never meant to make you feel uncomfortable-"

"It's okay," Eric cut in, tearing his gaze away and back to being his version of 'fine'. Kyle wouldn't let him retreat.

"Is it?" he pressed. "Remember, when we first got to Paris, you said this would only work if we're honest with each other, and if we trust each other? And I think that should apply to..." Kyle frowned as he tried to search for the word. "This kind of stuff too, right?" he settled on. "I won't judge you, Eric. We can go as slow, and as gently as you need to, okay? I don't care if there's  _performance_  issues, if you're a... virgin-"

Eric laughed, it was a short, sad sound that seemed to skip across the pool's surface like a pebble.

"No, no..." he smiled, shaking his head before frowning again. "Definitely not that..."

"Then what is it?"

Eric sighed, before meeting Kyle's gaze once again. Shining, but not with innocence, or hope, or fondness. This was pain and bitter experience, Kyle's heart clenched helplessly, unable to protect the guy beside him from the past.

"Kyle, I care about you so much. Before you came back into my life I thought it was impossible to care this much about anyone,  _anything_ , and to want you even more than I already did, but here we are."

A half smile flickered on his face, and drew a smile out of Kyle too. Disbelieving and humbled all over again, that he had just happened to chance upon this kind of affection, that he was in receipt of the kind of devotion people yearn for, and that it was under his nose for so long, unreciprocated but resolute all this time.

"This is all I've dreamed of since..." Eric's gaze wandered as he tried to recall, but his shoulders slouched when the figures were lost on him. Did it even matter? "I don't even know when. And I want to experience everything with you, but I've..."

His gaze soon lowered, crashing. His feelings for Kyle seemed to transport him to heady, celestial heights, where the bad appeared so tiny it was almost invisible. But he could easily be brought back down to the bad, to the grimy, the corrupt, and disheartening.

"What?" Kyle whispered, transfixed.

Eric sighed, still avoiding Kyle's gaze.

"I've never had sex with anyone I've cared about, let alone had a serious relationship with. For me sex has just been about curing boredom, or feeling a little less alone, or... as a means to an end when the job requires it." He shook his head, as if he could sense Kyle's unspoken surprise and unease, and could assuage it. "Believe me, it's a last resort and I try really hard to not let it get to that but when it does... I never feel violated, but I don't feel good about myself when it's over. No matter who it's with, I never feel good afterwards. I guess growing up had a lot to do with it. I saw some stuff that I... I-I really shouldn't have seen..."

Kyle squeezed Eric's hand, and felt as though his heart were in flux, breaking and pouring all at once. It prickled and stung, rendering Eric - who he had never seen clearer - blurry in his vision. Pieces of childhood were connecting to create a wider, more disillusioning picture, and Kyle would tear it apart if it meant Eric never having to feel like that again, or ever. But maybe reversal wasn't the answer, maybe repairing was. That was Kyle's job now, he had been a rival, a friend, an object of desire, a liability, a partner, a confidante, a saviour, and someone to rescue. Now he needed to be all of those things and more, fulfilling, and healing, so those neglected, gaping wounds of the past could be stitched up with care, mended, sealed with a nurturing, patient kiss. They were both broken, both in pieces, but they could connect together and rebuild themselves, unify into something more resilient, more whole.

"But sex sure has never been about affection, or trust, or  _love_ ," Eric continued. "I've never associated it with those things, and I know with you it's going to be different, Kyle." He looked at Kyle, and his smile and gaze brimmed with all the hope in the world. "I  _want_  it to be different. But I guess I'm afraid that I'm incapable of that, and earlier it all seemed to happen so quickly - just like all the other times when it meant nothing - that it scared me. I don't want it to ever feel that way with you. I'm not..." he rolled his eyes. "I'm not saying it will never happen, or that I want you to wait for me but I'm just... not quite ready yet." He smiled again, gearing up for what he wanted to say next. "I'm in love with you, Kyle, and it's okay if you're not there right now. Believe me, I get it. I've got at least a ten year head-start on you. But I've been sat out here thinking about it and... maybe I won't feel truly ready unless that feeling is mutual." He winced, and Kyle could tell he was embarrassed by his request. "A-a-and I know that may sound crazy, and pushy, and desperate, but that's just how I feel."

Kyle was still searching for his words, but as he processed everything Eric had told him he kissed his cheek, comforting and grateful for all that he had shared.

"Thank you." he whispered, eyes opening as pulled away. "I feel so much better now that you've told me all that."

Eric blinked in surprise, eyebrows quirking upwards.

"You really don't mind?"

Kyle shook his head, smiling helplessly, but he soon returned to seriousness.

"Eric, I would never want to hurt you..."

Eric nodded.

"I know."

"I want this too, but I want it to be right," Kyle added, confident enough now to smile again. "I want it to happen at the  _right_  time. I'm not... quite where you are yet, but I'm getting there. Every minute we're together I'm getting closer to..." he gave Eric's hand another squeeze. "Where you've always wanted me to be."

Eric was smiling at him now, as wide and as glimmering as he would be if Kyle had just declared his love, and Kyle wondered how exactly he would react when the time inevitably came. But that confirmation, that honesty, that respect and patience was all Eric needed right now, and had perhaps needed for longer than Kyle had realised.

Overjoyed, he crashed their lips together, and Kyle returned the kiss with something true and understanding, ever closer to love.


	16. There's Such A Lot of World to See

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait with this chapter guys! Even though it's not super long, I think it's the longest one so far, so that may explain the delay. Chapter title is a lyric from 'Moon River' which I think is such a sweet song to encapsulate where Eric and Kyle are at in this fic right now. Anyway, I hope you enjoy and that it was worth the wait! I'd love to hear your thoughts, and thank you for reading!

They had been in Italy for almost a week and Kyle couldn't remember ever feeling this happy. Of all the ways he had imagined his life unfolding when he was still a kid stuck in South Park, unable to see over the tops of those jagged mountain peaks, he of course never envisioned graduating from college to a career as a professional criminal, and he certainly could never have predicted that it would lead him right back to Eric Cartman, that he would be the one to save him, protect him, cherish him, and  _love_ him. That particular confession by the pool was startling if not totally surprising, and filled Kyle with a piercing, humbling feeling of joy that he wasn't sure he could contain. But Eric never made him feel undeserving with his gentle touches, enthusiastic kisses, and conversation Kyle would be lost without. Days spent in the town, in the pool, in the car were marked as Kyle becoming ever closer to requiting him.

So enthralling was their secluded paradise that Kyle could've forgotten about Folke, and if he could rid himself of the memory and the threat, then he would've happily traded it for truly carefree days spent with Eric. But like it or not, Folke was still out there, and they had to be aware, and they had to be prepared. Kyle had to drag himself to his beloved laptop, his once precise, effortless manoeuvrings that had come to him as easily as breathing were leaden, weighted with dread. Kyle exhumed, rather than exhaled with, relief when it was confirmed that Folke still wasn't in Italy, hadn't managed to track them down just yet. But  _yet_ was a frightening constant, one that haunted them and would've kept Kyle up at night if not for Eric's body heat and soft, pillow-like chest drawing him to sleep.

If Kyle's job was to be a lookout for any approaching intruders to their bliss, then Eric was responsible for maintaining that addictive state. Distraction and performance, it was the role Eric was born to play, and he did so with relish. Kyle had to wrench himself away from his side to retreat to his laptop every evening, praying for good news and looking forward to wrapping himself up in expensive sheets and his boyfriend's arms.

This morning however, he was woken not by sudden, lurching dread, or the sun shining through the curtains but by the persistent, beeping alarm on his phone. A light sleeper, it was enough to stir him, but not for Eric who was still snoring, his chest still rising and falling steadily beneath Kyle's head. Kyle tried to nudge him awake, tried to instruct him so directly into his ear, but he was as stubborn as ever, even unconscious. So Kyle decided to leave him be, extracting himself carefully from his embrace, and padding to the kitchen.

He had made himself a cup of coffee, and because he was bored and his admittedly foolhardy impulse control was still dozing, he chose to indulge his masochistic side by opening up his laptop and checking in on Folke. For all his determination, his deception, and energy he poured into his vendettas, the fallen conman seemed static, stagnating in Paris. Perhaps he was still too injured, forced to stew in his temporary defeat? Kyle finished what was left of his coffee, staring at the screen until his eyes ached, trying to figure out what it all meant. For Folke, for them...

He jumped, and almost dropped his mug on the tiles when he felt a chin plop itself on his shoulder. He was immediately soothed by Eric's hair tickling his face, a full, grinning cheek pressing against his own, coaxing a smile.

"Buongiorno..." Eric greeted, soft and low.

"Huh?" Kyle chuckled.

Eric snickered too.

"Good morning..."

"Oh..." Kyle replied, flushing. "Good morning..."

Eric pressed a kiss to Kyle's cheek, and reminded him just how great it felt to finally be uninhibited with each other, when he had almost forgotten what intimacy felt like.

"What are you up to?" Eric asked, making his way to opposite side of the benched breakfast table.

"Just keeping an eye on 'you know who...'" Kyle murmured, eyes wandering to the screen once again.

"Okay..." Eric replied, uneasy and unprepared for this topic of conversation when he had only just woken up. "Still nothing?"

Kyle sighed, weary of the stasis.

"Yep, still nothing..."

"Well, no news is good news, right?"

Ironically, the more they told themselves that, the less Kyle was starting to believe it.

"I guess..." he replied, non-committal. "He's still in France."

"Recuperating?"

"Maybe..." Kyle nodded. He looked to Eric. "Plotting?"

Eric gnawed at his lip, gaze roaming the table as he considered his answer.

"Most likely..."

Kyle appreciated the honesty, but could do without the asphyxiating fear it stoked.

"Hey, come on, try to relax," Eric added with a smile, his bare foot brushing against Kyle's under the table. "We're not in imminent danger, and besides, I never told him about this place. He'd never think to come here."

Kyle gulped, brows knitting together. It wasn't enough to assuage the anxiety slowly building.

"Why were you even looking? You checked before we went to bed last night..."

Kyle managed to smirk, and was glad for it.

"Well, I had to find something to occupy my time while I waited for you to get up," he said, looking at Eric with an eyebrow arched. "We're supposed to be at the vineyard in an hour, remember?"

Eric blinked, their upcoming date dawning on him.

"Oh, shit!" he said, getting up and rushing to the bathroom.

Kyle laughed, and rolled his eyes. As long as he had Eric with him, the presence of Folke in their lives didn't seem so foreboding.

Eric peeked out from behind the archway leading into the bedroom.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" he asked.

"Because, you looked..."

Kyle stopped when Eric grinned, as if he knew Kyle's answer would be mushy and affectionate, and he was delighted by it already.

"I didn't wanna disturb you," Kyle replied, smiling. Withholding the satisfaction. "You looked.. cute, peaceful..."

Eric bit the inside of his mouth, as if it could contain the giddiness he was practically swaying with. Coy and smug all at once he sauntered over to Kyle, so slow he was almost hypnotic. Kyle waited with an exasperated smile, impatient, he just wanted Eric in front of him already, so he could pull him even closer.

Instead, when Eric was front of him he placed his hands on the table either side of Kyle, leaning forward so Kyle was draped in his shadow. Kyle basked in it like a heliotropic plant, soaking up Eric's light in the dark.

"Yeah?" Eric teased, foreheads pressed together, nudging Kyle with his nose.

Kyle nodded, cheeks aching from the weight of his smile. His fingers itched to make contact with Eric - his face, his hair, his arms, his chest, but instead Kyle settled for his shoulders, giving him a gentle push.

"Go on, get in the shower!"

Eric rolled his eyes and huffed, but complied with a smile, traipsing to the bathroom.

* * *

Days spent exploring the town, and afternoons lounging by the pool were of course fun, but Eric and Kyle both agreed when stumbling upon vineyard tours during Folke surveillance, that a little variety wouldn't hurt. Group tours were out of the question, when the memory of the ziplining incident when they were kids was still enough to make them both shudder, and besides, a romantic day strolling around a labyrinthine vineyard, watching the sun set over a glass of wine just the two of them, was decidedly more romantic.

They pulled up outside the Bianchi vineyard at around nine thirty, circling the ancient, crumbling fountain in the sprawling driveway with trepidation, as no staff appeared to be milling around. In fact, it appeared they had just stumbled upon a pleasant, but very much private, family house, only wanting to be disturbed by the ivy crawling all over the old facade. If this was indeed the place they were supposed to be, Bianchi  _was_  advertised as a historic, family-run vineyard, but they had no idea it would be this exclusive. The car came to a stop, and Kyle and Eric looked at each other with puzzled frowns, and unsure creases in their brows.

The front door clattered open, and a small boy appeared. Fearless, he emerged from the shady, large porch, and he squinted at the sun, and the strangers in his front yard.

"Tu chi sei?" he asked.

Before Kyle could tell him not to, Eric got out of the car and slowly approached the boy.

"Ciao, siamo qui per un tour della vigna?"

To Kyle's relief, the little boy nodded, and Kyle thanked whatever lucky stars they had that Eric was fluent in Italian.

"Nonna!" The boy called out, his head turned towards the house and the open door.

A portly older woman came shuffling out, children both older and younger than the little boy flocking around her and chatting amongst themselves.

"Cos'e, tesoro?" she asked.

"Uh, Ciao, siamo qui per un tour della vigna?" Eric asked, taking a slow step forward. "Abbiamo chiamato due giorni fa?"

"Mitch?" she responded, accent thick. She stepped into the sun, revealing her face, leathery with sun exposure and hard work.

"Si..." Eric nodded.

She seemed to light up then, her arms thrown as wide as her smile as if she had known Eric his whole life.

"Benvenuta!" she exclaimed. "My name is Giorgia Bianchi, I'm the owner of the vineyard!"

"Piacere di conoscerti..." he replied.

She shook hands with Eric, her other arm reaching around to pat his back. Kyle watched, amused and relieved, and was startled by Eric turning his head and nodding, beckoning him out of the car. Kyle hurriedly unfastened his seatbelt, embarrassed by his earlier trepidation as he approached Eric and Giorgia with his hands tucked behind his back.

"Parli Italiano?" she asked Kyle with a smile.

"Oh, um, no, sorry..." he replied, offering his hand for her to shake. "My name is Kyle..."

Giorgia accepted his handshake gladly, clasping it with her free hand.

"Welcome to Bianchi, Kyle." She beamed. "Are you ready to start the tour?"

Kyle looked to Eric, and they both nodded.

"Yeah, sure!" Eric replied.

"Then follow me!" Giorgia said, before turning to her grandchildren. "Segui la nonna..."

And so Eric and Kyle were led to the vineyard, following Giorgia's lead, and little hands tugging them closer.

* * *

"...Our vineyard was bought by my husband's grandfather in 1842, and was only a small patch of what we own now. They converted the house into the winery four years later, and that is when we started producing our wine. We are a small vineyard compared to others in the region, but we supply wine for all the local restaurants, and we've even started selling in Pisa too! I'm glad we've been able to expand, but I have my children to thank for that."

Kyle cast his gaze out over the rolling vineyard and saw employees, skin gleaming with sweat and clothes stained purple with juice, tending to the vines of all sizes, crouching down and reaching up to pick the ripest fruit. He strolled tentatively behind Giogria, his footsteps felt clumsy compared to her authoritative stroll, it were as if she had sprouted from the ground herself, robust, earthy, and a born matriarch. He was reminded of perfumed arms enveloping him, melting all his troubles away, and hair as red as his own, and promptly shoved them to the back of his mind. He tried to direct his attention to the lush leaves, burning an almost fluorescent green into the landscape when the sun shone through them, or the sound of the kids giggling and chatting behind them, or Eric, nose scrunched up as he inspected the sky, squinting, his tan making a much welcome return.

"My husband always wanted to keep the business in the family," Giorgia continued. "I promised him on his deathbed that I would keep the business going, even if it seemed like he was the heart of it. But  _we_  are the heart of it, all of us. Twenty years later and nothing has changed, we all miss him of course, but I know he would be proud..."

"So how did you and your husband meet?" Eric asked.

"In the vineyard, of course! I was seventeen, and working in these fields, picking grapes. His father had just started to train him, as of course he would be taking over when his father retired. The first responsibility his father gave him was to oversee all the workers in the field. He was very handsome, so of course all my friends liked him, but I was the one he chose! He asked me if I would like to stay for dinner one night, and just like that we fell in love! When he took over, I was right by his side, looking after the children and advising him in the business. He taught me English like his parents had taught him, and I loved talking to our clients, making deals, managing the stock... but I still loved the process of making the wine too. I'm too old to do it now, but we have wonderful employees here, I treat them like my family! Most of them are!" she chuckled.

"How do you know when the grapes are ripe?" Kyle asked.

The grapes hung like chandeliers on the vines, creating glimmering shadows on the ground.

"The colour! The darker the better. The birds can tell you too, if they're sniffing around the vines I know the grapes are ready. They're nuisances, but so handy! Here..." Giorgia plucked two dark, plump grapes from the vine and handed them one each. "Have a taste..."

Kyle placed the grape between his lips, and sweet, tart juice spilled out the moment his teeth broke through the supple flesh.

"It's good?" Giorgia asked, eyes bright, pleased and confident.

Eric nodded, swallowing.

"Delicious!"

"Would you like to pick some?" she turned to the group of kids huddled around them. "Bambine!"

Kyle and Eric were handed pale blue buckets by Giorgia's grinning grandchildren, and an hour later Kyle's was almost full. During college he hated the thought of taking on a boring, monotonous job just because he needed to pay the bills - hence the jaunt to Philadelphia to do work that certainly wasn't boring, but was decidedly more nefarious. But there was something so relaxing, peaceful, almost hypnotic, in plucking a grape from the vine and hearing it plop into the bucket, with only chirping birds, buzzing insects, and distant conversations in a language he didn't understand to distract him... oh, and Eric too, who insisted on eating most of the grapes he had picked.

"Hey, quit it!" Kyle scolded, giving him a shove when he saw Eric had tossed another grape into his mouth.

"What?" Eric said, swallowing the grape down with a loud gulp.

"You're not supposed to eat them!"

"Sure I am, Kyle! It's food isn't it? Besides, Giorgia's not gonna notice a couple of grapes missing out of, what, a billion?"

Kyle huffed, smiling in exasperation.

"Alright, good point," he conceded, returning to the task at hand. "You're way off on the numbers, but still..."

"When you think about it, I deserve these grapes," Eric added. "I'm the one who picked them! Therefore, I can do whatever I like with them. I never thought I'd be doing actual work on a date..."

"Well, at least it's something honest," Kyle pointed out. "And anyway, I think it's romantic..."

"I'm glad you think so. As long as you're happy, I'm happy," Eric reassured with a smile.

The glowing ellipsoid shadows of the fruit matched his smattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose, and Kyle marvelled at how he looked just as beautiful, dressed down and surrounded by verdant scenery, as he did in his sophisticated tux about to gatecrash a lavish, mansion party.

"This is where Giorgia met her husband, can't you see yourself falling in love here?"

"I'm already in love, babe." Eric grinned, smile cheeky but tone candid.

Kyle chuckled, flushing under the baking sun and he didn't know if it was Eric's charm or sincerity that was responsible.

"You know what I mean!" he replied. "Use your imagination!"

Eric nodded, considering his words.

"Okay..."

Kyle shook his head, picking yet more grapes and placing them in the bucket. He didn't even hear Eric slowly approach him, didn't notice he was beside him until he was inches away from his face.

"Excuse me, but I don't think I've seen you here before..."

"Huh?" Kyle asked, almost dropping his bucket in surprise.

He regarded Eric warily, but he remained unfazed.

"Are you one of the new guys?"

Kyle soon caught on, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth that he tried to temper by biting his bottom lip. All to remain in character, of course. He glanced between the vines and Eric, as if he were an actor searching for the next line.

"Uhh, yes, I am..." he replied, picking another grape. "And you are?"

"Oh, God, sorry, how rude of me!" Eric pressed a hand to his chest, before apology gave way to arrogance. He puffed his chest out. "I actually own this vineyard!"

"Really? Then it's me who should be sorry, sir! If I had known who you were-"

"Never mind, I should've made my introductions sooner," Eric replied, waving Kyle's apology off. "All's forgiven... " he raked his gaze over Kyle and grinned, daring to edge closer. "So what brings you here? You seem like too bright a young man to be picking grapes."

"I've moved here with my boyfriend."

"You don't say?"

Kyle pursed his lips, and nodded. It was so hard for his gaze not to wander to Eric, his grin wide and his eyes lit with mischief. But he'd surely crack if he did, giggles pouring out.

"Yes, and I'm actually looking to switch career paths..."

"Really?" Eric asked, fascinated. Kyle noticed him fold his arms out of the corner of his eye. "What were you doing before?"

"Something I shouldn't really be discussing with you."

"Why not?"

"Because it wasn't exactly legal, and not something I was proud of. That's why I wanted to get out, so I could make a real future for myself, do something that was honest, and worthwhile, and fulfilling-"

"So picking grapes?" Eric cut in, and Kyle noticed an eyebrow arch.

Kyle sighed, saccharin and dramatic, in a way that he imagined Eric would.

"For now, yeah. I like it though, being outdoors, in the quiet, it gives me time to think..."

"About your boyfriend?" Eric pressed, inching ever closer.

"Sometimes, yes," Kyle said, with a smirk that was wavering. He tried to concentrate on picking grapes, hoping it would distract him from Eric's alluring smile, proximity, gaze, just daring him to break.

"I bet he's a great guy. I imagine he's handsome, and funny, and charming, and smart-"

"Yeah, but he's not modest."

Eric laughed, a short, quiet hum but they were so close it was an inescapable sound, one that sent a shiver down Kyle's spine in the middle of a Tuscan summer.

"Sounds like you're pretty happy..." Eric remarked.

"I'm  _very_ happy," Kyle replied, grinning and unafraid to meet Eric's gaze. It was worth it.

Eric blinked, his brows twitched and his smile softened, delighted and surprised, and never knowing how much he needed Kyle's confirmation of their shared bliss. He tugged his lower lip between his teeth, gaze wandering over Kyle once more, and soon returning to flirtatious character. He wrapped his arm low around Kyle's waist and pulled him closer, Kyle felt like he was floating, pulled by the power of his boyfriend's thrall.

"So you don't ever think about anyone else?" he asked.

"Who would I think about?" Kyle replied, coy.

Eric sighed, in the exact same way Kyle imagined he would.

"I don't know..." his gaze wandered above Kyle's head. He soon returned to him. "An equally charming co-worker, perhaps?

"That would be inappropriate," Kyle pointed out, hands cupping Eric's elbows and giving him a pinch.

"There's no law against fantasising..."

"I guess you're right..." Kyle replied, before he titled his head and leaned in a tad closer, sharing a pretend secret. "But if I started fantasising I'd probably wanna act on it, and I can't do that."

"Why not?" Eric asked, eyes unabashedly preoccupied on Kyle's mouth. "You seem like the adventurous type..."

Kyle grinned.

"And you're a bad influence... "

Eric snickered, a hot, low hum that disappeared into the warm, morning air. He tilted his head too, eyes lidded and half-concealing his blotted irises, now topaz. Kyle closed his eyes, lips parted and waiting to connect with Eric's full, plush pair, but he was interrupted by something tugging at his jeans. Jolting, he extracted himself from Eric's embrace, turning around to see two of Giorgia's grandchildren beaming up at them, oblivious.

"Oh, uh, hey there..." Kyle said, smoothing down his shirt and trying to catch his ragged breaths.

"You need to come with us!" a little girl with dark silky plaits exclaimed, clasping Kyle's wrist in her tiny hand.

"Nonna said we can show you the best part!" a boy added.

Before they could question it they were jogging to keep up with the excitable kids, fantasy abandoned in the vines.

* * *

On route to their once mysterious destination, Kyle discovered that the kids were named Luna and Gio, and that they were taken them to the winery so they could be shown the next stage in the winemaking process, where the grapes would be crushed and then fermented. From the vineyard the winery resembled a large molehill, complete with a tunnel connecting the winery to the house, and when they stepped inside, it did almost feel subterranean, as if the building had swallowed them whole. Intimidating, tireless machines thrummed, dwarfing Luna and Gio and Kyle did wonder if they really should be in there. He was relieved to find that they weren't interested in showing him and Eric the giant machines but a large crate of grapes. He and Eric were dragged towards the crate, and with a tug at their wrists knelt down in front of it, sharing small smiles across the rippling waves of deep purple.

"So what do we do now?" Kyle asked, tipping his bucket into the crate as instructed by their junior tour guides.

"Crush them!" Luna replied, grinning. "They go into the machine, but Nonna lets us crush them with our hands!"

She reached into the crate, scooping as many grapes that could fit in her cupped hands, and squeezed. Juice squirted and dripped, and fleshy purply bits slid through the cracks of her fingers, languid in their descent and plopping right back into the crate.

"You try!" Gio added.

Kyle delved into the crate, and some grapes jumped ship as he lifted his hands. He squeezed, instinctively recoiling when the juice spurted in sudden, strong rivulets, but the tear and split of the flesh, the cold, wet sensation at his fingertips was as strangely satisfying as popping bubble wrap. He smirked, not even caring about the pulp beneath his fingernails, or the sticky, reddish stain on his skin.

"Like this?" he turned to Luna and asked, as if this was a difficult task and he was the laymen to her professional.

She nodded approvingly and they scooped up some more grapes, crushing so many that gathering more was like soaking your hands in a sweet, magenta swamp. Juice trickled down Kyle's arms like new, superficial veins on his pale skin, and even though today was just another great day spent with Eric, in the secluded, gorgeous countryside, and even though this was just supposed to be fun, Kyle really felt like he was getting something out of the simple, silly exercise. Not just enjoyment, or laughs, or even contributing to a bottle of Bianchi red, but an accidental therapy, rid of words, and wounds.

He was destroying something with his bare hands, in order to create, and that was wholly positive. He felt that he had ruined a lot over the years, his relationships, his morality, a chance for something better, even himself. But he had reconnected with his brother, although there was still more work to be done. He had reconnected with Eric, through a series of events that Kyle could only consider to be kismet even if for years he had never believed in fate. But maybe it was his choices that were responsible for their collision? And maybe he should be thankful, grateful, for those bad choices, decisions, deeds because they led him to confront his past, himself, his future, and with another reckless action he had set about a new path for himself. One that was dangerous, and reckless, and was still frighteningly unclear, but one that led Eric to be by his side. His scintillating, surprising light illuminating a version of Kyle that had been extinguished. One capable of good and bad, hurting and healing, indulgence and altruism. A person, not a criminal. Loved, not wanted. Soon, the fruit that he had destroyed would be smooth, delicious wine, just like he hoped all his mistakes would evolve into happy endings, some he had chosen, some coincidental.

He heard Gio laughing, and when he looked up he saw that he was staring at Eric, who had drawn war paint patterns on his face, watercolour stains and fruit bits. Kyle couldn't help but smile dreamily, couldn't help but contemplate a future where hearing a kid laugh because of Eric's humour was a regular thing. Not too long ago, Kyle couldn't have imagined Eric being his boyfriend, and he certainly couldn't have imagined Eric being-

"Want your face painted too, Kyle?"

His daydreaming was interrupted by Eric's question, and he was startled by his mischievous grin. He really should've known not to have stared for that long...

"No thanks..." Kyle replied, turning his head and trying to be cool.

Eric didn't relent, biting his lip and coming closer to Kyle. Stalking him almost, the perfect victim for his prank.

"Seriously, if you put that stuff on my face-"

"What?"

Kyle couldn't answer, Eric had lured him in and he was done for, laughing helplessly.

"What are you gonna do?" Eric pressed, catching Kyle's infectious laughter.

"Get away from me!" Kyle said, standing up and backing away from him.

"Huh?" Eric goaded, standing up too and approaching him. He cupped his ear and leaned forward. "I didn't hear you, what were you gonna do?"

Kyle tried to dodge him, but he didn't get very far. He huffed when Eric's arm collided with his chest, steering him into his embrace and Kyle feebly wriggled with pretend protest.

"No!" he laughed, not even trying to be convincing.

He heard a squeal, and saw that Luna and Gio were playing their own game of tag, flinging juice bits of their fingers and it splattered on their clothes.

Smirking, Eric drew a line of grape bits down Kyle's nose. He almost went cross-eyed as he tried to follow Eric's finger. He blinked and met his gaze when he was finished, still holding him tight and flush to his chest. Kyle chuckled.

"God, you're such a-"

Kyle was interrupted by a kiss to his nose, Eric's lips closing over the tip. He smiled, and when Eric pulled away he was smiling too, gentle and calm, with eyes lidded. He picked the fruit bits off Kyle's nose delicately, as if not wanting to disturb their embrace and leaving Kyle mesmerised by the small, quiet action.

They were pulled out of their haze by Giorgia entering the room.

"Gio! Luna! Have you brought our guests in here?"

"Si, nonna!" Gio replied.

"We wanted to show them how to crush the grapes!" Luna added.

Kyle looked around, and found a towel hanging on a hook on the wall. He grabbed it and began to wipe Eric's face, ridding his skin of the makeshift paint. Kyle chuckled when Eric's face scrunched up, his smile crinkly and adorable. His cheeks were pinked by the time Kyle was finished.

"Alright, but lunch is ready!" Giorgia announced.

* * *

Lunch was served in a dining room that appeared more suited for prayer, with its high, swooping ceilings and tall windows that may not have been stained-glass but reflected a beatific, idyllic landscape that was an artist's dream. But unlike a dutiful congregation waiting for their sermon, the family seated at the long table were making loud, vibrant conversation as they waited for their meal. Children squealed and ran around, their hunger not seeming to put a dent in their energy. Luna and Gio fled to their brothers and sisters and cousins, while Kyle shared a steadying, disbelieving smile with Eric that they had been ingratiated into this vast, close-knit family, unexpectedly and unconditionally.

"Tutti sono qui!" Giorgia announced, the acoustics in the airy room were perfect. Everybody turned to her. "Possiamo iniziare ora!"

Kyle's hands instinctively slipped behind his back when faced with so many polite smiles.

"Here..." Giorgia added softly, gesturing to the two places set at the table for them.

"Thank you-"

Before they could take a seat, Luna and Gio ran back up to Eric, tugging at his arm.

"Sit with us!" Luna exclaimed.

"Nonna, can he please sit with us?" Gio begged.

Giorgia chuckled and shook her head, her gaze wandering to Kyle and Eric.

"It's not up to me..."

Eric glanced at Kyle over his shoulder, a little hand still tugging him away from him. But still he looked to Kyle as if to ask if this was okay, and Kyle was too endeared to the display in front of him to say no.

Kyle smiled.

"Sure, go ahead..."

Luna and Gio cheered, before leading Eric to the end of the table where the kids were sat.

"I'll sit here," Giorgia said, taking Eric's seat. "To keep you company."

Kyle shook his head, he didn't want to take Giorgia away from chatting with her family.

"You really don't have to-"

"But I want to! I can introduce you to my children!"

With that, she gestured to a lady maybe a few years older than himself, dressed formally like she was on a business lunch (though if she worked for Bianchi, this sort of  _was_  a business lunch), and two gentlemen, one with a mop of wavy black hair and wearing thick-rimmed glasses, the other wearing a crisp, powder blue shirt and with a jawline you could slice a pineapple with.

"Kyle, these are my youngest children Stefano and Rosa, and my son in-law Alessandro."

"Nice to meet you," Kyle said, reaching across the table to shake each of their hands.

Everyone soon dug in to their lunch of Penne all'Arrabbiata, baskets of bread being passed back and forth and, of course, wine being poured. The table mingled with conversation, and although Kyle had often been accused of liking the sound of his own voice, he was quite content to listen. Especially when it meant watching Eric at the other end of the table, revelling in making the kids laugh. It was a heartening outlet for his undeniable talent for performance.

"You've made the children so happy by letting them show you the winery..." Giorgia said, leaning in close to Kyle so he could hear.

"Oh, it was great!" Kyle replied, surprised by the sudden start in conversation. "We had a lot of fun. They're good kids, you should be really proud.. of everything." He sighed. "What you have here is incredible."

Giorgia beamed, eyes glimmering and she gripped his arm and squeezed affectionately.

"Thank you. Even if I wasn't born into it, Bianchi is a part of me now, and I try to make my husband proud. I'm glad you're enjoying yourselves."

"Oh, we are." Kyle nodded, sticking his fork in some pasta. "Thank you."

"So are you here on your honeymoon?"

Kyle almost choked, coughing on the pasta that was halfway down his throat and he was glad to swallow it.

"What?" he shook his head and laughed. "Oh no, we're not married."

"You're not?" Giorgia asked, a noticeable little dent in her wrinkled brow.

"No, actually, we haven't been together that long. I mean, I've known Eric since I was a kid but... yeah, this is still 'new.'" Kyle took a small breath, relieved that he had managed to get all his words out.

Giorgia was nodding, but something told Kyle she wasn't quite buying what he was telling her. She smiled.

"Well, you seem very happy."

Kyle smiled too.

"We are."

"Very much in love..."

Luckily, Kyle had no food in his mouth that he could choke on, but the comment was still enough to make him push the pasta around the plate, shy and unsure how to respond.

"Oh, I don't know if we're quite there yet."

The dent in Giorgia's brow returned, deeper.

"'There?'"

"Yeah, I mean..." Kyle sighed, not knowing where all this skittish rambling was coming from. "Like I said, we haven't been together that long. I think it's too soon to say we're in love. I mean, that  _I'm_  in love. We know how we feel for each other but it's..." he shook his head, and confessed to a little old lady who he hardly knew, what his last hesitant hold-out was. "I've never been in love before."

Giorgia nodded, and this time it looked like she was beginning to understand where Kyle was coming from.

"My husband, Alberto, was my first love. My  _only_  love. I can't remember when I knew, when I was sure, because we're never really sure. Sometimes the people who we love hurt us the most, disappoint us the most, because we give them so much of ourselves. It doesn't matter when you fall in love, how long it takes, because when it hits you, nothing that came before matters. Everything is small, insignificant, and you feel like you can and would do anything for the person you love. I grew to love my in-laws, I lived with them for years! But they didn't like me at first. They thought Alberto could do better."

Kyle blinked.

"That must've been hard to take..."

"It was!" Giorgia continued, able to laugh about it now. "For both of us, but we wouldn't part, we wouldn't let them part us. We stayed strong, I proved myself, and they had to admit that we were right for each other. Like I say, sometimes  _I_  even doubted if we were right for each other. Running a business, raising a family, it's hard! It's easy to run away, to let everything fall from your grasp. You mustn't. You must not destroy what you created together. You must not lose what you found in each other. I look back at those difficult times with fond memories now, because we made it through and we couldn't have done that without each other. I was there for Alberto until the end, and before he passed I told him how much I loved every second spent with him." She leaned forward, gaze imploring Kyle to take note of what she was about to say. "You only have so much time, Kyle. Don't waste it being unsure. The greatest thing about love is how fearless it makes you."

Kyle felt his shoulders soften, his lips part because he knew Giorgia was right, and yet during these heady, beautifully simple days he had taken that truth for granted. Wasn't it love, after all, that inspired Eric to risk his life for him in St Tropez? Turn on dangerous people who he knew it would cost him to fuck over just so Kyle would be safe? And no matter how much Kyle told himself he was being considerate and sensible with his decision to wait to tell Eric he loved him, until he absolutely knew for sure lest he rush this, or break it, what else could have motivated him to pursue Folke, throw himself on the sacrificial altar once again, not to be a martyr to another self-righteous cause but because he would've lost himself to a million infernos if it meant keeping Eric alive. They had both been so reckless, destructive, and courageous to preserve each other, and maybe the nature of their corrupted business had made them audacious, but it was surely love that gave such heedless behaviour purpose, and peace. Why was Kyle so afraid? When he knew Eric would say it back, when he knew that confirmation was what Eric was waiting for? Kyle maybe had this doubt, pervasive enough to keep him silent, that he had never been in love before. But Eric had never been  _loved_ before, and their resolutions could be found in each other. Why should Kyle deny him that? They could give each other what they wanted, and Kyle knew that saying those three little words  _wasn't_ a selfish act.

"Nonna, nonna!" Gio was breathless when he reached Giorgia's side. "Can Eric play the piano for us please?"

Giorgia gasped, delighted at the revelation that Eric could even play.

"Of course!"

Kyle blinked too, eyes finding Eric to see him taking a seat at a grand piano at the other end of the room, with the kids all crowding around him. The younger kids were even bouncing at his feet, eager to see him place his fingers on the keys. It had been years since Kyle had heard Eric play, probably when they were no older than the kids so excited to listen to him now. Eric's gaze found his, simple and magnetic, drawing smiles from each other.

"That piano belonged to Alberto's father..." Giorgia leaned over to inform Kyle. She then stood up, clapping her hands and commanding everyone's attention. "Tutti, calmatvei! I nostri ospiti suoneranno qualcosa per noi!"

Everybody murmured, and Eric basked in the glow of his audience like their collective gazes were a spotlight hitting him.

"So, uhh... I haven't played in a while, so I apologise if I'm a little rusty." He paused when the crowd snickered. "I'll keep it short and sweet. But I would like to dedicate this to my boyfriend, Kyle. He's sat right at the back there..."

Everyone at the table turned to look at Kyle, grinning knowingly at him. Kyle felt his shoulders draw upwards again as he tried to smile in a way that wasn't totally awkward. Their attention soon drifted elsewhere, and when Kyle was able to he glared at Eric, a soft reprimand for embarrassing him. But Eric just grinned at him, and Kyle had no choice but to laugh under his breath. The noise was delicate enough to got lost beneath the thumping of his heart.

Eric started to play a familiar tune, and the room went quiet.

" _Moon river, wider than a mile, I'm crossing you in style, someday_."

Kyle bit his lip to contain his smile, the urge to laugh, and all those instincts that were making him flush. Eric, cool, and adoring, with a surprisingly lovely voice and lidded eyes looked directly at Kyle when he sang:

" _Oh dream maker, you heart breaker, wherever you're goin', I'm goin' your way..."_

Kyle pursed his lips to hide his now crumpling smile, his nose stinging and his eyes blurring helplessly.

" _We're after the same rainbow's end,"_ Eric continued. " _Waitin' 'round the bend. My huckleberry friend, moon river, and me..."_

Eric finished with a little bow, rousing applause from the whole table, and cheers and requests from the kids for another song. But Kyle was speechless, and yet had so much to say, so much to finally tell Eric when they were alone.


	17. Amore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the wait on this. Full disclosure, I've been having a difficult time with this story and this chapter was a struggle to write, but I'm now feeling a lot better and a hell of a let more motivated! So I hope you enjoy, and I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thank you for reading and being so patient!

The sky was dimming and the clouds were pinking when Eric and Kyle returned home from Bianchi, with an invitation from Giorgia to visit anytime and a gift basket laden with red wine. Drowsy from the day spent in the vineyard, his generous lunch, his contentment, Eric would've gladly crawled into bed, falling asleep with Kyle wrapped up in his arms, but something had been preoccupying his thoughts the whole journey home.

"Any requests for dinner tonight?"

"Huh?" Kyle chuckled, eyebrow arched. "We had a huge lunch, the last thing I'm thinking about is dinner."

"I just wanna do something with this wine Giorgia gave us," Eric replied, studying the shiny, crimson bottles in the basket. "It'd be awesome to cook with. How about-"

Eric didn't protest - couldn't protest - when Kyle cut him off, cupping his face and connecting their mouths as if Eric's lips were the only thing he wanted to savour. Eric placed the basket on the kitchen table and returned the kiss, surprise melting away into simply pleasure. His hands found Kyle's waist and squeezed as their tongues met. They parted, mere inches.

"Thank you," Kyle whispered. He was hazy in Eric's vision but his hushed words were warm against his mouth. "Today was so great..."

Eric smiled. Although he desperately wished the circumstances were different, he loved being here with Kyle.

"Yeah, it was..."

They kissed again, and Kyle's hands moved from Eric's face to his shoulders, arms looped around his neck as he sought to deepen the kiss. More urgent than indulgent now, and Eric could practically taste something building between them that needed to be released. Kyle relinquished his flushed, aching mouth, his breaths hitched and lush, smiling against his lips. His eyes glimmered as he found Eric's surely bewildered gaze, his grip at the nape of his neck was tight. He was looking at Eric like he never wanted to let him go.

With a deep, stammering breath he confessed: "I love you."

Eric blinked, reeling. He was glad he had Kyle in his arms to ground him, to hold him up. He still trembled, buckling with shock and shaking with delight. He had watched Kyle's mouth form the words, beautiful and perfect enough to be a dream. Eric could've faltered again when he was reminded that this was incredible, blissful reality.

"You're... I..." Eric gave up trying to complete the sentence when his articulacy failed him. He just held Kyle tighter, and attempted to pull him even closer. "Seriously?"

Kyle chuckled and nodded, euphoric, and brought their lips together.

"I love you, Eric..." he murmured, undeniably confirming it.

Eric gulped, pushing down the lump in his throat. But his eyes still stung, his brow still creased, as he tried to return the sentiment without sobbing.

"I love you too, Kyle..." he replied with a kiss. "I love you so much..."

"And I'm not just saying that..." Kyle added breathlessly between joyous pecks. "When we talked by the pool... I'm not just saying it to-"

Eric placed a quieting hand on Kyle's warm, flushed cheek. There was no need.

"I know," he replied, voice and gaze strong and resolute. But his eyes soon fell to Kyle's lips and he gave in, hypnotised and as enamoured as ever. He nuzzled him and murmured, "I know..."

"I just had to say it," Kyle added, voice strained and desperate, rushing out of his mouth now that reluctant seal had broken. "I was scared before, of how I felt. I've never been in love, and I didn't want to rush this, or say it when I wasn't completely sure but..." Kyle pressed his lips to Eric, a hard, encouraging kiss. "I've never been more sure of anything, and you deserve to know that."

Eric returned the kiss, his hand now cradling Kyle's jaw and tilting him upwards to sample more of his lips.

"Now may not be best time anyway to... you know..." He chuckled, noses pressed together. "We fucking reek, dude..."

Kyle raked his gaze over Eric, surveyed his own wine-stained clothes and skin still dewy with sweat and nodded, laughing in agreement.

"Yeah..."

"Mind if I take a shower?"

Kyle shook his head, releasing Eric with a chaste kiss.

He practically stumbled to the shower, undressing and turning the hot water on automatically as his every thought was preoccupied by Kyle confessing his love over and over again. For all his criminal, amoral, dangerous exploits, simply being loved by another was something he never thought he could pull off. Especially by the guy he thought he was doomed to be hung up on until his deathbed, someone who was good, and noble, and who reflected everything he was and wasn't, and who  _loved_ him all the same. The grin that was stretched across his face wasn't going to be as easily wiped away as steam from a fogged-up mirror.

Stepping in the shower, splashing the water on his face, dragging his fingers through his hair, watching the water swirl at his feet in a purplish hue, Eric not only felt the grape stains and sweat drip away and circle the drain but his reluctance too. Invigorated, and so very  _wanting_ , he no longer felt afraid that his desire for Kyle, their consummation, would be cheapened by experiences he could now forever resign to his memory. He knew Kyle's touch would relieve him forever, leaving only an unfiltered, emboldened desire. He was kicking himself though, as he wished he had invited Kyle in the shower with him now. He was charming, he knew how to flirt, persuade, suggest. It was how he swindled marks, and made his brief flings believe he was more interested than he really was. But Kyle didn't want a cunning conman, or a one-night stand, or Mitch Conner. He wanted him, even the most insecure, awkward, bare parts of himself, stripped of any front, facade, or fancy clothes.

He turned the shower off and stepped out, drying himself off and slipping on a white, fluffy robe. Padding back into the bedroom he was surprised to find Kyle not waiting for him, and panic threatened to needle his serene state. But out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Kyle was outside, his back facing him and granting him a particularly gorgeous view as he stood beneath the outdoor shower. Water dripped from his soaked red curls, and took its lecherous time running over the lean muscles of his back, ass, thighs, calves, and with his alabaster skin he appeared as exquisitely aloof as a statue of a Roman God, hidden by tall walls that were ensnared by snaking vines and summer flowers. There was no need to be coy in Eric's quiet villa on the hill, in the middle of nowhere, although an ardent part of him was determined to make Kyle scream loud enough for the faraway townspeople to hear.

Not wanting to disturb the lovely image just yet, Eric was careful to shut the sliding doors behind him with a near silent click. The sound of his bare feet padding against the patio was lost beneath the steady stream of water above Kyle's head.

"Hi..." he said, cheeks aching from the weight of his smile.

Kyle looked over his shoulder, totally unfazed.

"Oh..." he replied, turning around and inviting Eric's wandering stare. "Hey..."

Eric couldn't respond, the sight in front of him was that of his wildest fantasies, nothing like he imagined and better than he could have ever hoped for. So alluring, that Eric barely noticed he was approaching him.

Kyle arched an eyebrow, smile shy.

"You okay?"

Eric blinked and nodded, trying to reconcile that this was reality. That he really was about to hold, and touch, and make love to Kyle. He gulped, forcing words because he knew he needed to say something. Kyle would deny him this if he showed him even a hint of doubt, because he had promised he would never hurt him. He found his smile again and took a quivering breath, emboldened.

"Yeah, I'm great..."

Kyle chuckled, pleased. He pressed his lips together as if to contain the small, adorable sound, but his eyes widened and he couldn't help but laugh when Eric stepped in the shower, robe still on.

"What the hell? Eric, you're getting soa-"

Eric interrupted him with an impatient, needy kiss. Kyle's eyes were lidded and his lips were parted when he pulled away, halfway placated.

"I don't care..." Eric murmured.

Kyle smiled, throwing his arms around Eric's shoulders and crashing their lips together once again. His hand found Eric's newly drenched hair and tugged when their tongues met, a scorching, sultry sensation as steam furled around them and hot water ran in rivulets over their flushed cheeks. Eagerness exacerbated by his nudity, by their desperate open-mouthed kisses, Kyle's hands roamed from Eric's hair and onto his shoulders, dragging over his clothed chest, and stomach, and with a tiny grumble of complaint, they separated. Kyle reached for the lax, knotted cord of his robe.

"At least let me-"

Despite his molten, melting thoughts, Eric was quick to grab Kyle's wrists and pin them to the wall. Because even if the now soaked robe was sitting heavy on his shoulders, and the desire to connect bare with Kyle was near debilitating, and even if he wanted to be completely himself with Kyle, he had learned too many valuable lessons during his grifting life not to put them to good use. Like, winding his boyfriend up tight just to watch him unravel gloriously. Because the most tantalising part of the con is the tease, and Kyle wasn't complaining. He smiled, exasperated, yes, but knowing and wicked still, and gladly received Eric's earnest tongue, his thigh shoved between his legs so he could rut against the coarse, wet material. Soon Kyle, as fiery and stubborn as he was intelligent and rational, grew wild in Eric's thrall, writhing in the wrists that bound him, nips to Eric's lips a deliberate shift in pitch among the melody of sucks, and licks, and swipes, and his cock growing harder against Eric's leg. Weak-willed as ever, Eric had to give in, his own cock growing weighty between his legs, poking out of his robe.

He released one of Kyle's wrists and grasped his half-hard cock. Kyle gasped, his free, trembling hand clawing into Eric's shoulder. It encouraged Eric to jerk him off in sparing, short motions at the base, not ready for Kyle to cum just yet. He whimpered, body tightening and hips meeting Eric's hand, pleading for the one thing Eric had to deny him. For now.

But Eric had always been curious, greedy, eager to push limits to see how far he could go. Unceremoniously, he dropped to his knees and took Kyle's cock into his mouth. A startled, choked sound escaped Kyle's lips, and Eric could hear his shoulders thud against the wall. He supposed that Kyle too, had spent so many years in this lonely, withdrawn life, untouched and unwanted. This was overwhelming for both of them, and Eric made sure to suck gently, indulgently, his own muffled moans accompanying the lovely noises that poured from Kyle's mouth like the water still running over them. Fingers found Eric's hair and instead of tugging in demand - like so many hands that had grabbed him without permission, like they owned him - they fingered wet locks adoringly, appreciatively. Kyle was starting to thrust now, shallow and careful into his mouth. Eric didn't care, parting his lips wider and gladly receiving more.

"Wait!" Kyle yelped. " _Aaah_   _wait_... n-n-not here..."

Eric released Kyle's cock and looked up at a heaving chest, dilated pupils, and fond, loving smile. He stroked his hair.

"Let's go inside..." Kyle added, soft and laboured, in a tone he couldn't refuse.

He offered Eric his hand. It was the most precious thing he had ever taken, leading him to the bedroom.

* * *

Abstaining from each other's mouths proved difficult. Once inside their quivering hands unlinked, the breaking of a fortifying symbol of solidarity for what they were about to embark on. Instead they grabbed for each other giddily, stumbling in a manner reminiscent to how Eric had fallen out of bars with a pretty redhead, or a sleazy mark. But no one had ever kissed him like Kyle did, so earnest and assured. The clumsy patter of bare feet on tiles marked their journey to the bed, and they fell onto it with shared, giggling huffs, the mattress squeaking. With their nervous, heady laughter, glinting eyes and the intangible but very real knowledge that nothing was more important than what was about to happen, Eric could've kidded himself he was a teenager in South Park. He yearned for that to be true, that this was his very first time, that Kyle was all he had ever known. But there was no use in dwelling on that now, when this consummation was just as crucial and momentous, more right than anything Eric had known.

Kisses charged and relentless, and bodies writhing and feverish, Eric's hands roamed Kyle's back, following the lines of his enlivened muscles, and trying to grasp his gorgeous rump whenever he could. Kyle, noble as ever, was content to paw at Eric's clothed side, despite his boyfriend's tenacity, not wanting to breach any boundaries he wasn't given affirmative permission to cross. But still, when he hitched Eric's legs up, bracing them with strong arms and core honed by years on the basketball court, and the flimsy garment fell away to reveal Eric's thighs, how were Kyle's hands not supposed to wander there and knead adoringly? It was a lovely sensation admittedly, for talented, infamous,  _wanted_  fingers that had demolished firewalls, made laser beams, and money, and priceless artwork vanish, to be clutching him hard enough to leave sweetheart pink indentions on his skin. In his work, Kyle had always been careful not to leave any trace, now he had no problem leaving his fingerprints all over Eric, and he was more than willing to be branded in such a manner.

However, Kyle began to retreat, attempting to pull back but it seemed as though their lips were fused together. Eventually they separated, mouths flushed and delightfully numb. Kyle was sat in between Eric's spread legs, on his knees. And even though he had seen Kyle in that stunning blue suit, his borrowed clothes, and that unexpected, world-shattering first time in St Tropez, Kyle had never looked more beautiful than he did with his hair wet, his skin glistening, his eyes dark, rock hard before Eric. That speechless, humbling, stinging appreciation of seeing Kyle dressed in  _that_  blue suit for their first date was returning tenfold, scorching his heart and denying him words. This Kyle, candid and unabashed, was simply sublime.

"Before..." Kyle said, gulping to catch his ragged breath. "Before we do this, I.. I-I need to say something."

"A speech, Kyle?" Eric teased, all he could manage. "Now?"

Kyle rolled his eyes and scowled, wobbly enough to collapse into a smile any minute. He pinched Eric's thigh, and the current of adrenaline coursing through his veins made him jolt at the sudden, sharp sensation. They both chuckled, but then Kyle's smile wilted into a contemplative frown.

"I haven't stopped thinking about our conversation by the pool..."

Despite everything, Eric's mood dimmed a little. He fidgeted, and Kyle was too close not to notice. He sighed.

"Hearing you talk about the things you saw, what you had to do for a job..." Kyle shook his head. "I-I-I know you said you never felt violated, but it still must have been so  _degrading_ , and it hurts to imagine someone treating you like that." He tried to smile again, and it succeeded in reaching his eyes. "But I'm also so glad that you trust me enough to tell me these things, that you trust me to make love to you. I know how easy it is, Eric, after years of being alone, and thinking you're undeserving to shut yourself away, to not let other people in. I'm scared too, but I wanna be brave.  _You_  make me want to be brave."

Kyle rested his hand on Eric's face, and Eric returned the touch with a smile. His cheek swelled against Kyle's palm.

"Because while I'll always be grateful to you for saving my life, the thing I'm most grateful for is how you've been so forgiving, and understanding, and honest." His voice was strained with the promise of tears. "You don't know how much that means to me. And after everything you've done for me, I guess I want to make you feel just as deserving, and safe, and  _loved_. So we'll take it slow, okay?" He leaned forward a little, stroking Eric's cheek. His brow creased at the sincerity of his words. "There's still no pressure here. If you need to stop, then we'll stop. Whatever it is that you want, please tell me because all  _I_  want... is to show you much I love you."

Eric had no idea what to say, so he just nodded without even thinking about it. He trusted Kyle completely.

"So..." Kyle said, suddenly shy. He was smiling, and fiddling with the cord of Eric's robe. "Can I?"

Smile broadening, Eric nodded. Kyle smiled wider too, showing his teeth as he unknotted the cord. The air suddenly felt cooler against Eric's skin when Kyle parted the robe. He hadn't touched him, choosing to drag his gaze over Eric's chest, belly, and cock rather than his fingers. But he still felt stroked, squeezed, marked by Kyle's gaze alone. Possessed and captivating, vulnerable and empowered. Their hitched, terse breaths filled the otherwise silent room, and Eric felt the quiet crushing him when he would much rather Kyle be on top of him.

"I thought we talked about staring..." he teased, shyer than usual.

It broke Kyle out of his reverie, and he grinned, mouth colliding hard with Eric's to prove him wrong. Lips preoccupied with activities other than talking, they relied on body language to communicate. Eric sat up when Kyle's eager, shaking hands became more adventurous, finally able to tear the damp robe away from his shoulders and let it fall behind him. Rid of it, Eric brought Kyle flush to him, lips parting and sharing a sharp, breathless moan when their erections brushed together. Kyle ground his hips while Eric bucked, soon finding a steady, delightful rhythm.

Hazy and far-gone already, Eric still knew that no pizza, or sugary homemade treat would be as sumptuous as Kyle's lips. He felt like he could gorge on his kisses forever. Still, there was one thing he was missing.

"I..."

"Hmm?" Kyle replied when his lips slid off of Eric's.

Eric grinned.

"Like it when you bite..."

Kyle grinned in return, planting a deep, purposeful kiss on Eric's lips that he gladly flexed into. As Kyle retreated, he did so by tugging Eric's bottom lip between his teeth, applying enough exquisite pressure to make blood rush to the surface without breaking the skin, and Eric wondered how the hell Kyle got to be so damn good at this. Kyle released him, mischievous and arrogant, and pecked his chin before diving for his neck. He buried his face there, hips winding down and chest melding with Eric's as he continued to kiss, and suck and nip, drawing lush, soft breaths from his parted lips. Eric's eyes drifted shut, feeling like Kyle's mouth was everywhere. He blindly searched for him, craning his neck and nose finding still wet curls. He inhaled the potent, pleasant aroma of sweat and shampoo.

Kyle's hand moved carefully between their slippery bodies and Eric blinked his eyes open and released a shaky, loud moan when Kyle wrapped his fingers around his cock. Eric's fingers were clutching the sheets, Kyle's back, clambering desperately. Kyle jerked him off excruciatingly slow, slower than Eric's own hand in the shower. But Kyle wasn't slow solely to tease, he was slow because he was considerate. A courtesy Eric was rarely afforded, and one he seldom offered in return.

"Okay?" Kyle asked, voice humid. His lips were just below Eric's ear.

Eric nodded, eyes squeezed shut, and groaned his approval.

" _Uh huh_... "

"Want more?"

Again, Eric nodded and Kyle tugged at his earlobe with his teeth. His hand gathered pace on Eric's cock, and he continued to make a meal out of his neck. Kyle must have found the sweet-salt flavour of his skin delicious and moreish, as he seemed to savour every last inch with smacking sucks and tiny nibbles. His skin was warm, and sore, and wet when Kyle wandered away from his neck, moving further down the bed until he was crouched between Eric's legs.

Eric opened his eyes when he felt curls brush against the inside of his slick thighs, chest heaving, and saw Kyle place his cock between his lips. He cried out, eyes squeezing shut once again as Kyle's hot mouth closed over the head. He sucked in earnest, taking Eric deeper with small, muffled moans of effort. His curls brushing against his skin were the only thing keeping Eric grounded to the bed, when his fingers grasping the sheets were sure to tear the material. Greedy, he began to thrust into Kyle's mouth, helpless to stop the clenching of his thighs, his hips rising off the sheets.

" _Aaah fuck..."_ Eric moaned. Kyle's mouth felt ever tighter around his throbbing cock.

But cruelly, Kyle pulled away. A displeased, confused whimper escaped Eric's lips, and Kyle was placing little, apologetic kisses on his groin.

"Not yet..."

Eric could hear the grin his voice. Maybe he had taught him something about the grift after all...

Kyle soon had Eric gasping and moaning again when he nipped at his thighs, and he shuffled further down the bed. Inquisitive, Eric lifted himself up on his elbows to peer at Kyle, but was brought back down the mattress again with a huff of lovely surprise when Kyle's index finger circled his opening.

"Do you like that?"

Eric nodded, brow creasing and head thrown back to the ceiling.

" _Yeah..._ " he moaned.

"Do you, uh, have any lube?"

Eric blinked his eyes open, peering down at Kyle.

"In the night stand..." Eric replied, breathless. "Condoms too..."

Watching Kyle retrieve the items, he drew an imaginary circle on the sheets when he admitted: "I got them in Pisa."

Kyle froze, blinking in surprise.

"What?" Eric asked, chuckling. He raised an eyebrow. "I  _did_  want this to happen..."

Kyle grinned, and resumed his place between Eric's legs. He coated his fingers with some lube, and slowly slid one finger inside him. It affected Eric more than he anticipated, gasping and then crying at a short, sweet octave, mouth falling open and face contorting with sudden, acute pleasure. Not enough to make him cum, of course, but enough to send him squirming, for his toes to spread.

 _"Kyle!"_  He cried, desperate for more.

Kyle soon entered another finger to rapturous response, encouraging a vigorous, steady pace. When Eric was panting, writhing, near sobbing, Kyle emerged. He was panting too, exhausted, drenched and gleaming with sweat. His eyes were lidded and dark, smouldering with an arousal that was yet to be sated. Still, he was as ridiculously noble as ever, placing warm, languid kisses on Eric's belly, his chest, mouth closing over a nipple. He huffed, smile wide and lazy, just so damn happy to see his boyfriend's face. His whole body was trembling, and Eric connected their lips again. They exchanged hot, sloppy, melting kisses, all laboured breaths, and brushing of tongues.

"Ready?" Kyle asked. His nose was smushed against Eric's.

Eric nodded, and Kyle moved again to reach for the condom on the nightstand. He rolled it over his cock with his still wet fingers. Looking only at each other, Kyle lifted Eric's legs, pushing them so far back they nearly reached his shoulders. They quivered, and his heart was pounding as Kyle entered him slowly. Instinctively, he cried out, his whole body seizing and clenching tightly around Kyle as he stretched him. But when Kyle returned to him, foreheads pressed together and noses touching, it was calming enough contact to mellow his breathing, for his shoulders to fall.

"It's okay..." Kyle murmured, kissing his face.

He found Eric's hand lying on the sheet and threaded their fingers together, a simpler, gentler intertwining. Eric mirrored Kyle's slow, deep breaths, his body sighing with acceptance. The deeper Kyle went, the harder his palm pressed against Eric's, his knuckles sinking into the mattress and their fingers slotting together tightly. Soon, he was balls deep and he began to thrust, finding a slow, indulgent rhythm for now.

Eric had been this vulnerable before, but no one ever appreciated it the way Kyle did. Their tangled, melded proximity, the kisses peppered on his cheek, jaw, neck, and Kyle's small noises of pleasure and reassurance against his burning skin were tiny miracles that Eric never thought he would achieve. People like him weren't loved like this. But Kyle always saw him as more than the sum of his worst, wicked parts. He was so pathetically transparent around Kyle, and even though this was the most intimate they had ever been, Eric hadn't needed to be naked for Kyle to have seen every part of him. He knew of every insecurity, transgression, failing, flaw and chose to stay even if he didn't choose to love him. Because he knew love wasn't a choice, it had been inconvenient, and painful to love Kyle all these years, but he couldn't stop even if he tried.

His nose prickled, and a boulder pushed itself into his throat. But he clamped his mouth shut, gritted his teeth, determined not to cry. His body trembled even more with his effort, and he squeezed his burning eyes shut only for a tear to escape. He prayed Kyle wouldn't notice it rolling down his cheek, but when Kyle pulled back, eyes wide with concern, he knew he had failed.

"Sh-shit... " Kyle whispered, letting go of Eric's hand to swipe the tears from his cheek. His eyes were alight with concern. "Are you alright? Did I hurt you?"

"Huh?" Eric replied, shaking his head. "No, no, it's fine, I... I just..." Eric looked into Kyle's eyes, and saw his dishonest reflection. He sighed, what was the point of pretending? He smiled, soggy with tears. "I love you..."

Kyle smiled too, lips drawn tight and his eyes were brimming.

"I love you too." He placed a slow, soft kiss on Eric's lips. He murmured, "I love you so much..."

They continued to kiss as they fucked; moaning, whimpering, groaning and murmuring against each other's lips, tender, treasured sounds that Eric would hoard forever. As they neared their climaxes, Kyle thrusted harder and faster, while Eric tried to press him closer and closer, mouths finally separating to pant, gasp, and cry out. Kyle came with a humid shout against Eric's neck, mouth parted wide and riding out his orgasm with long, lazy thrusts that prompted Eric to cum too. He arched off the drenched sheets before sinking, spent and shivering, into the pillow. Bodies aching and throbbing, they didn't separate immediately. They exchanged languid kisses and smiles, Kyle still inside Eric but he didn't care.

When Kyle eventually rolled off of him, Eric noticed just how beat he was. His body shone, his hair was stuck to his forehead and his eyes were refusing to stay open. Eric's gaze wandered, and saw Kyle's poor lungs scraping for air, cum drying on his belly and condom still hanging limply from his cock. He must've noticed him staring, for Kyle smiled shyly and soon removed it, placing it on the nightstand beside him for now. Eric didn't mind, in fact, his heart was swelling with gratitude and fondness by the second.

Wordlessly, he pulled Kyle into his arms and Kyle gladly sank into the embrace. Eric hoped the rise and fall of his own chest would lull him into sleep. Smiling, he placed little kisses in Kyle's hair, inhaling once more that wonderful scent.

"Thank you..." he murmured, and immediately welled up again. He didn't look up from Kyle's hair.

_What the fuck has gotten into me?_

Kyle craned his neck and met his gaze, unperturbed by Eric's watery eyes or wobbling lip. In fact, he placed a tender kiss there, and again swiped away the tears that were roaming his cheeks.

"Don't cry..." he whispered.

Eric shook his head, Kyle growing blurrier in his vision.

"It's okay, they're not sad tears, it's..." he sighed. "I never thought it could be this good. All of it, being with someone..." he stopped, and stroked Kyle's cheek. "You just make me so happy."

Because despite the frightening circumstances, running into Kyle in that decrepit warehouse, and rescuing him from Folke, was the best thing that ever happened to him. Even if it meant being on the run forever, Eric didn't care as long as Kyle was by his side. It would be a more fulfilling life than he ever imagined was possible.

Kyle didn't say anything, there was no need. Eric had no doubt in his admission, and he welcomed Kyle's kiss again.


End file.
